


Good Vibrations.

by Obsidian_Operative



Series: Good Vibrations [1]
Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Communications Misunderstandings, Developing Relationship, First Kiss, First Time, Friends to Lovers, Humour, M/M, Old-style Communications Technology, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-23
Updated: 2020-09-27
Packaged: 2021-03-01 05:08:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 45,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23279902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Obsidian_Operative/pseuds/Obsidian_Operative
Summary: After missing their literary lunch yet again due to a hectic work schedule and a failure of the comms system, Julian Bashir comes up with an idea of how to let Garak know if his plans change at all.   But when Bashir produces some replicated old-time technology from one of his favourite films…  Well, Garak supposed he would have to humour the dear Doctor.After all…   What couldpossiblygo wrong?
Relationships: Julian Bashir & Elim Garak, Julian Bashir/Elim Garak
Series: Good Vibrations [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1726306
Comments: 289
Kudos: 154





	1. Stood up...

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks as always must go to the delightful Syaunei for her support and encouragement, the title idea and the occasional suggestion for tech _malfunctions_. Thanks also to Pixiesnix for her enthusiastic encouragement.

In retrospect, Garak felt that he had only himself to blame and if ever one of those trite Human phrases were accurate then he was sure that " _It seemed a good idea at the time,_ " was the most appropriate here.

It had started out with an innocent enough intention. He and Dr Julian Bashir had started to meet on a more frequent basis for what Julian had started referring to as having a "literary discussion". Garak had given a firm "No" when Julian had suggested calling it their "Book Club" as it sounded like something that the more elderly inhabitants of DS9 were prone to attend in order to discuss some ridiculous romantic novel and to chirp incessantly about how wonderful the hero was and how it was 'a shame that we didn't still live in those times'… Garak briefly thought about the tribulations of making women's clothes for these periods and shuddered slightly, although he had to admit that the thought of the good Doctor in a well cut, three piece suit did go a long way towards leading him into temptation where those fashions were concerned.

It had all been Julian's idea. It had come after the third time in a week that Julian had been delayed by a medical emergency and Garak had been left hanging around in the Replimat feeling like a spare part. The last straw had come when he had been waiting patiently, a cup of red leaf tea in front of him and stealing what he had thought were covert looks towards the doorway, only to find Lieutenant Jadzia Dax grinning at him fiendishly.

"Hello Garak. Have you been stood up again?"

"Stood up?" Garak had frowned. He knew perfectly well what the term meant, but any other answer would have been tantamount to an admission that he was there for a very specific purpose.

"You know… your date failed to show up?" Her expression and her tone were, as usual, teasing and the remark was meant in fun, but the fact that the implications had crept a little too close to the mark had rung little alarm bells in his mind and he slipped, almost subconsciously, into default obfuscation mode.

"Lieutenant Dax, I am merely here to partake of a quick luncheon during a quiet spell in the shop. Nothing more."

The Trill's eyebrows rose in a manner which spoke louder than any words she could have uttered. Garak glared back at her in what he hoped was a dismissive manner, but he suspected that he wasn't fooling anyone. Really, he was getting out of practice…

****

It was a tired and somewhat apologetic Julian Bashir who virtually staggered into Garak's shop later that afternoon and wasted no time before slumping down onto the chair next to the fitting rooms.

"Good afternoon, Doctor. Are you suffering from some sort of backbone malfunction?"

"Backbone…? Sorry?" Bashir had started to bristle slightly.

Garak sighed and refrained from making any remarks about posture and self discipline. He had learnt from previous comments of that sort that there were times when the good Doctor's sense of humour was tragically missing. This was apparently one such time.

"A busy day today then, Doctor?" Garak plumped for a less provocative remark. He liked a good argument as much as the next Cardassian, but suspected that he was pushing his luck this time and that an attempt at provocative intercourse of the verbal variety was likely to finish in a most unsatisfying manner with the doctor stomping off in what Humans seemed to refer to as "a huff". 

"Yes. Very busy. I'm sorry I didn't make lunch. I did try to get in touch to let you know, but the comms channel had to be kept free for dealing with the emergency we had and then I was tied up totally."

Garak allowed himself the luxury of a fleeting image and an accompanying shudder at the very thought… That beautiful, long-limbed body… manacles… chains… ropes.

"Garak? Garak!!? Where were you just then? Your eyes went sort of glazed. Are you all right? No headaches or anything?"

"Oh… I… I'm perfectly fine, Doctor. I was just… thinking about a jacket that I was designing for… for.. Quark… "

Julian gave a small shrug and frowned. "What we really need is to have some way of getting messages to each other which doesn't rely on the main comms systems."

"I suppose that _would_ be more convenient for me as well. After all, it is poor etiquette if I am with a customer and have to leave them standing partially naked while I answer a comms call. What did you have in mind, my dear Doctor?"

"Hmmm." Julian rubbed a thoughtful hand across his chin, tapping a finger against his face as he did so. "Leave it with me, Garak. I might have an idea!"

Garak winced inwardly. He'd spent enough time watching Julian Bashir as closely as possible to have become accustomed to his expressions and their often not-so-subtle nuances. The expression currently sitting happily on that beautiful, dark-eyed face suggested that this _idea_ was linked to just one thing… _Spies_. Garak knew that, by inference, these would be the sort of 'spies' that existed in the world of Julian Bashir, Secret Agent, and that any resemblance to actual operatives in the world of true espionage would be purely coincidental and highly unlikely.

"Oh, and Garak?"

"Yes, Doctor?"

"By way of an apology for missing lunch, would you care to join me for a meal later? I'm off duty for the rest of the day and I thought we might discuss that book which you borrowed…"

"That would be most agreeable, Doctor."

"Great! Shall we say my quarters at… 20.00?"

"I shall look forward to it," Garak murmured politely. Well, it was only a partial lie. He _was_ looking forward to it, leastways to the part of it which involved being able to gaze wistfully at the young Starfleet Officer and watch his animated attempts to argue in favour of his book choice. That by far outweighed the fact that he had been tasked with reading one of the most insipidly tedious pieces of work written in the entire 23rd Century by any author of any culture.

He watched as Julian Bashir walked out of the shop, casting a grin back over his shoulder. It was around closing time in any case, so Garak spent the final few minutes tidying things away and wondering what to wear for his ~~date~~ _meeting_ with Dr Bashir.

****


	2. Retro Tech

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a literary ~~argument~~ discussion is held... 
> 
> Julian's idea is revealed...

Garak gave himself a mental lecture on "allowing himself to slip into bad habits". He was normally capable of making swift decisions - he'd had to be during his earlier life, when delaying for a fraction of a second too long could mean the difference between living to reach the next mission or finding oneself on the weekly list of "field losses" posted on the notice board on Level IV at Order HQ. 

So why was he now standing half naked, staring contemplatively at his bed upon which two outfits were currently languishing?

Dark Celestial blue with a silver motif… or the black and burgundy number with the geometric patterns marching across the chest? 

The black and burgundy was a little more forgiving on the figure with its slightly squarer and longer cut, but then again, the blue did feel very comfortable and it _did_ have the added benefit of showing at least two extra sets of neck scales, being cut in a slightly more risqué manner than anything else in his wardrobe. It was also cut asymmetrically so as to show a great deal more thigh than would be considered seemly in polite Cardassian society. 

Garak gave a gentle sigh as his mind clung onto that last thought… Hang it all, he wasn't in polite Cardassian society… He wasn't even in impolite Cardassian society. What was more, the dear doctor was unlikely to even notice. His knowledge of Cardassian dress codes and customs was hardly well developed and his innate fashion sense was sub-microscopic. 

He replaced the black and burgundy tunic in his wardrobe and returned to shrug into the blue outfit. A quick check in the mirror, a slight application of highlighting balm to his neck scales, a last check to ensure that his hair was in order and he was ready. He gathered up the box of Delavian chocolates, took a deep breath and set out for Julian Bashir's quarters.

****

A mere five minutes later saw Garak at the door of the quarters of one Dr Julian Bashir, smoothing down his tunic and wondering whether to surprise the Human by keying in the access code and walking straight in.

Maybe not. 

He gave a quiet cough and pressed the door chime. It was answered so rapidly that Garak began to suspect that Bashir had been hovering on the other side just waiting for the chimes to ring.

" Garak! You look pretty..." Julian blurted the words out and his body immediately grabbed hold of the guiltiest expression it could find and plastered it across his face. 

" _Pretty_????" Garak's brow ridges almost hit the roof they went up so fast.

"P…p…pretty good, I mean… " Julian stammered, his eyes suddenly wide with panic. He stepped aside and gestured for the Cardassian to walk into his quarters. Garak stepped past him, eyeing him cautiously and clutching the box of chocolates to his front like some sort of emergency shielding device.

He eyed the doctor shrewdly as he came back into the room, his face returning to its usual golden-brown tone as he waved a hand vaguely towards the table and began moving plates and bowls of food from the replicator. 

"Take a seat, Garak. Would you like a drink? Quark sold me a bottle of Getekrian wine earlier and I'm fascinated to know what it's like. Have you ever tried it?" Bashir placed the bottle on the table in front of Garak and stood back awaiting a reply.

"No, Doctor, I can't say that I've had the pleasure. I have, however, had to try dealing with Getekrian fabrics before and, well, let us hope that their wines are better than their textiles!" Garak gave what he hoped was a reassuring smile and tried to hide the wince as the doctor opened the bottle and the smell of the contents hit his sensitive nostrils. He suspected that any hopes of a decent drink were about to be dashed.

Julian poured two glasses and they both sat and stared at the slightly murky liquid, then glanced up at each other, almost daring the other to be the first to try it. After a tense few seconds, Julian capitulated and took a small sip. Garak was treated to an expression which he had to admit he had never seen on the Human's face before and, in all honesty, he hoped never to see again. It wasn't flattering. 

The young doctor made a curious noise that hovered somewhere between surprise and distaste before coming down heavily in favour of disgusted. 

Garak casually pushed his glass away with one finger. 

"If it is all right with you Doctor, I'll forgo this particular experience." He continued to watch Bashir whose face was still making most unusual expressions. His gaze lingered on those lips which were pursed in a paroxysm of horror and, for a fleeting moment, he wondered if the Getekrian wine would taste any better on them than from a glass. Valid question it might have been, but Garak wasn't feeling that impetuous at that point of the evening. 

Julian strolled with feigned nonchalance to dispose of the bottle and glasses, returning with a more acceptable alternative before sitting down and fixing Garak with what Garak knew to be his "literary expression".

"Well Garak, what did you think of the book? You did manage to read it?"

"Yes, Doctor, I'm afraid that I did read it." Garak managed a sigh which spoke volumes and had Julian Bashir fighting to hold back a grin.

"Not up to your high Cardassian standards then?"

"My dear Doctor. It wasn't even up to low Cardassian standards! How such… such… facile rubbish can even be classed as literature is a total mystery to me!"

"But Garak, Chaprendat's "B'Laggen Trilogy" is considered one of the finest works of his era!"

Garak gave a huff which even Odo would have been proud of. "If that is the case, Doctor, then please remind me never to attempt to read any other works of that time!"

"Didn't you think that his description of the first time He'Trij saw his father after returning from the War was poetic?" 

"Are you referring to the part where the young warrior walked into his father's dwelling, insulted him and attacked him?"

"Well… It wasn't quite like that, Garak…"

"I distinctly recall the man saying 'I see you are grown old Father mine' before assaulting him physically."

"He didn't assault him. He clapped him on the back in a friendly gesture… He just didn't realise his own strength, that's all. He wasn't to know that his father had developed Friha Syndrome while he was away…"

"He killed his father, Doctor."

"Not on purpose… It… He… " 

Garak fought back a smirk. They'd only just started the discussion and already the good Doctor was struggling. 

"On Cardassia, as I have told you many times before, advancing age is seen as a strength to be respected. He'Trij would have been put on trial for such a disrespectful act towards his father and thereby The State."

"Garak, it wasn't set on Cardassia… It…"

"Well, perhaps it should have been." Garak snapped, dismissively.

"Not all cultures follow Cardassia's rigid principles of State loyalty! Some even allow their people to think for themselves!"

Garak managed to adopt an even more rigid posture and brought on a look of total horror to back it up.

"My dear Doctor… That has to be the ultimate recipe for chaos. In this book, He'Trij has just returned from a war caused by allowing such laxity to thrive in the population!"

"What??! The War was caused by a rival population attempting to regain territories lost in battle five generations previously." Bashir was prodding the table to emphasize his point. The action made Garak shiver pleasurably. 

"That, Doctor, is exactly my point! If all people were united under the State and working for its prosperity and good, there would be no need for petty squabbles over a boundary or two…" Garak raised his chin slightly in a manner which he knew signalled provocation in Humans. It worked, judging by the wide-eyed look of incredulity which spread across the doctor's face and the glint in his eye.

"A four year war was hardly what one would call a 'petty squabble', Garak!" 

Garak brushed the remark aside with a dismissive wave of the hand and a small shrug of the shoulders. 

"On Cardassia there are _feasts_ that last longer!!"

Normally, that would result in an exaggerated sigh from the Human and an attempt at a rational, but forceful. explanation of the situation from a Federation viewpoint. This, naturally, would be used by the Cardassian as a platform to launch into a bout of sarcasm regarding the ways of the _Federaji_ and a continuation of the argument to levels where the doctor was running his hands through his hair in agitation and Garak was glaring and growling, hoping his ridges weren't getting too dark and wondering what the response would be if he actually pinned the doctor to the wall and emphasized his meaning with a few strategically placed bites. 

This time though… 

"I… But… Y…" Julian's voice tailed off weakly and he merely sagged in his chair. 

Garak gave him a concerned look. It was unusual for the doctor to falter this early in the proceedings. The heightened emotions he'd felt at the prospect of a stimulating argument crashed back to their normal levels in seconds. 

"Doctor? Are you quite well?"

"Just tired, Garak. I hadn't realised that today had taken so much out of me."

"Oh. Should I leave you in peace, Doctor? We could always continue the discussion over lunch tomorrow, if you would prefer?" 

"No, no… I'm fine. Well, perhaps a little tired for in depth discussions about the "B'Laggen Trilogy" but we can still enjoy our meal, can't we? And I _do_ have something that I want to show you afterwards." 

Garak flashed a quick (and possibly a little hopeful) glance up at the doctor. Alas, there was no evidence of the statement containing any form of innuendo; no quirked eyebrows, no sultry gaze, no smirk… 

The rest of the meal passed in general conversation about life on the station, the rumour of a new Bolian restaurant opening on Level 6 and the fact that Quark had already started a campaign to get it closed citing deleterious effects on his profit margins as the main reason. Both agreed that this was hardly going to be the argument that would convince Commander Sisko to prevent the new venue from opening. 

"Have you ever eaten Bolian food, Doctor?"

"No."

"Very uninspiring. The Bolians are strangers to flavour."

"I won't be able to tempt you to eat there then?" Bashir gave Garak a sideways grin.

"One is always open to temptation, Doctor… Given the right incentive." 

_'By the State,'_ thought Garak, giving what could only be described as a coy look to the medic, _'how obvious do I need to be in all conscience?'_

He was happy to receive a charming grin in return but would have settled for a slap to the face - so long as it was delivered by the dear doctor.

"You… er… you said you had something to show me, Doctor?"

"Oh yes. I was trying to think of a way to be able to contact you if I get held up like I did today and can't use the main comms system. I think I might have solved the problem."

The doctor looked so excited by his idea that Garak could only smile indulgently as the young man leapt to his feet and disappeared for a moment, only to return with a beaming grin, waving his hand in the air. It contained two things that resembled small padds and which were placed on the table reverently. Garak picked one up and frowned at it where it lay neatly in his palm. He looked up at the doctor and raised a brow ridge questioningly.

Julian grinned. "I was watching one of my old films the other day. It was set in the early 21st Century and they used these devices for communication."

Garak turned the device over in his hand, running his fingers over a set of buttons which had glyphs which represented Terran numbers and letters on them. He had to admit that, as the doctor's 'spy gadgets' went, this one did seem remarkably… unremarkable.

"It's called a 'mobile phone'," twittered Julian. "They used them centuries ago on Earth."

"Intelligence operatives?"

"Everyone, apparently. Look, you turn it on by pressing there and holding it down for a count of five."

"There's a coincidence…" muttered Garak. 

"Pardon? Sorry, I missed what you said."

"No matter," Garak replied, hastily. He squinted at the tiny screen which suddenly lit up with a miniscule logo. "What does this mean 'no-kye-ay'?"

"I think it's pronounced Nokia… It's the manufacturer. Look, you see here? You can send messages through to another device. So now, if I am delayed and can't get to a comms link, I can just send a message to your mobile phone and let you know."

"Plain and simple," murmured Garak, pressing one of the buttons and only just preventing himself from leaping back in alarm as a spotlight beam shone from one end of the device, catching him directly in the eye. He hoped fervently that he was not going to discover a hidden phaser in the same way.

Julian leant close and pointed to the screen, listing the limited functions which the device had. Garak sat, wondering how such unsophisticated technology would have been of any use to any intelligence operatives. Even at a glance it was obvious that its security was going to be easily compromised.

He decided to have a proper look at it later, back in the privacy of his own quarters. It seemed to make the good Dr Bashir happy though, which was enough for him. He slid the device into the pocket of his trousers, leant back and watched his companion.

And so it was a weary tailor who finally headed back to his own quarters, leaving Dr Julian Bashir pouring over a pamphlet which seemed to be called the "User Manual" after having told Garak that he'd read through the instructions that night and try it out the next day.

Yes indeed… It _had_ seemed a good idea at the time. What HAD he been thinking?

****

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Julian presses a few buttons.
> 
> Garak discovers the Joy of Text...
> 
> Apologies for the surplus notes... for some reason it has decided to cling to the ones for chapter one... jeesh...


	3. Through a Lens...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Julian gets into the swing of things and discovers a few things about his new "toy"...

Garak's first experience with the gadget happened early the next morning and, truth be told, he was thankful that he had been on his own when it had. He'd been sitting at his desk in his quarters, sipping a red leaf tea and gazing out of the viewport at the star field beyond, mulling over the tasks he needed to finish at the shop and mentally placing them in lists according to priority. He was just congratulating himself on finding a sufficient number of excuses for tasks to not end up on the 'immediate action required' list when the doctor's gadget, as he has started to think of it, gave a little twitch and began skittering across the desk surface in a series of shuddering spasms. 

Garak drew back in alarm, reaching hastily under the desk to where a small, Cardassian-designed disruptor was taped to the underside. He was just about to blast the offending item to oblivion when it stopped moving. Garak crept towards it, tense, ready to react. He extended a grey finger and prodded the device, carefully at first, then with slightly more force. It didn't respond, so Garak tentatively picked the object up and peered at it. The screen was illuminated for some reason and a flashing icon informed him that he had a message… 

Intrigued, but still wary, Garak prodded the button for the messages folder and waited as the screen blinked and then flashed a message onto the screen… 

_"Good morning Garak! How are you? Lunch today? See you in the Replimat usual time?"_

Garak scowled at the screen and re-read the message giving it Bashir's tonal inflections and after the eighth re-read he could almost forget that they were just words on the screen and imagine the long-limbed, beautiful Human standing in front of him and saying them directly. 

He tentatively pressed the button that said "Reply" and began to formulate a response, cursing slightly as his slightly thicker, more stubby fingers which were not suited to small keypad buttons tapped out " _Good morning, Doctor. I am in good health, thank you for asking. Lunch would be most agreeable. I trust that you are in good health also_." It was with no slight embarrassment that he noticed that he had been concentrating so hard on typing his message that he hadn't realised that he had his tongue poking out of one side of his mouth. 

He checked the message again… It sounded insanely formal in comparison to the one he had received, but Garak could see no reason to let his standards slip when it came to proper communication. He suspected that it would be far too easy to slip into a laxness when communicating in this manner. With a frown, he pressed "Send", raising his brow ridge slightly as the screen blinked and informed him "message sent and saved". Well, that had seemed simple enough…

Garak checked the time, swallowed the last of his tea and headed for the shop, slipping the phone into his trouser pocket with a wry smile. He wasn't a great believer in gadgets - especially _pseudo-spy_ gadgets as he tended to think of them, but he was willing to play along just to humour Julian Bashir. His mind carefully avoided acknowledging that this was not the first time that he had humoured the man and was most certainly unlikely to be the last.

****

The morning passed uneventfully, if you discounted the argument with a passing one-armed Tirellian freighter captain who wanted to purchase some gloves but was convinced that he should be able to buy a single glove _and_ only pay half price for the privilege of so doing. He'd had quite a convincing manner about him too, being two feet taller than Garak and easily twice his weight. It had been fortunate that Odo and a security team had happened to be passing at that moment and had removed the freighter captain, allowing Garak to climb down from the cutting table and continue with his work.

The messaging device had been completely forgotten during the incident. It came as somewhat of a shock therefore when Garak had been in the middle of fitting Morn for a waistcoat when he became suddenly aware of a bit of a 'problem' in the 'trouser department'. Or, to put it bluntly, the device had started to vibrate somewhere in the region of the right side of his groin. It was fortunate that Morn was an amiable and tough-skinned soul. Many would have been put off their stride by their tailor going wide eyed, giving a gasped curse and jabbing them in the neck with a pin, but Morn hardly batted an eyelid and continued chatting happily as though nothing had happened.

Garak veritably hustled Morn from the shop and fished rapidly in his pocket, producing the phone and glaring at it. He called up the message and again found himself reading it and hearing the gentle voice of Julian Bashir informing him that he would "be 10 minutes late for lunch" but "not to worry, he would certainly be there"… Garak reflected that this message could most likely have been delivered over the comms channel, but clearly it was going to take a little time for the novelty to wear off for the doctor so he resigned himself to receiving similarly ludicrous communications for a good few days. He gave a long suffering huff of what might have been disdain… but equally might have been fondness and replaced the device in his pocket, although manoeuvring it to a less… _provocative_ place against his hip.

The hour before lunch proved to be… interesting. Garak was quite relieved to be in the shop alone when there was the insistent vibration of the phone against his hip bone. He was in the middle of sewing a long section of very fiddly beadwork and was unable to get to the phone, which repeated its announcement six more times in the space of as many minutes before falling silent. 

Garak frowned, irritated with himself for so rapidly falling for the lure of needing to know what the doctor was saying. He'd started off with such a dismissive attitude towards the wretched device, yet within a few hours had developed a fascination for the thing and could barely restrain himself from putting his work down to see what the message was. Perhaps another cancellation… he hoped not. 

He forced himself to continue with the work, trying not to notice that he was actively trying to stitch more quickly and that this was making his hands shake. Ridiculous!! After the third time that he managed to jab the needle into himself and had successfully dropped half the beads onto the table top, he gave up all pretence of working and hauled the phone from his pocket with unseemly haste.

_"You have 7 messages"_

_Seven_? Perhaps the dear doctor _had_ been forced to cancel after all… He scrolled to view the messages, opened the first and… 

"What…?" 

Message 1. The screen showed what appeared to be a blurred image. Mostly black but with a flash of teal-blue in the top left corner and a sort of flare of white in the opposite corner. Garak frowned in bewilderment. Perhaps the device was malfunctioning. He jabbed a button and the screen cleared.

Message 2. It was actually quite similar to message 1, but with something skin-coloured visible in the top right corner. It looked a little like a thumb. Garak sincerely hoped that it _was_ a thumb. It was difficult to tell due to the blurring but it was definitely a body part and the other possibilities which ran unbidden through his mind left him slightly breathless and peering intently at the screen for further clues. 

Message 3. It _was_ a thumb. The print-ridges were visible on the far side of the…digit… Garak breathed a sigh of relief mingled with a vague hint of disappointment. He noticed that one corner of the screen now had a strange little tableau. He squinted at it in fascination. It appeared to be a very small image of Quark… It was upside down and slightly blurred, but definitely Quark, at his bar… 

Message 4. Quark - and the thumb - had been replaced by a very bright white flare and… an ear… Garak immediately recognised it as the ear of Bashir… Framed by dark curls… Delicate… Biteable… He hastily moved to the next message.

Message 5. This time the image was clear. It was the side of a nose and a large hazel eye, dark lashes curling seductively and framed against soft golden brown skin. The brow above was furrowed, giving the image a puzzled look. Garak was unable to stop a soft groan of what he, if questioned, would have claimed to be long-suffering weariness, but which others _might_ have interpreted differently. He squirmed uncomfortably on the chair and coughed. Two more messages…

Message 6. Julian Bashir was smiling gleefully from the screen with one hand raised to give a slightly embarrassed looking wave. The other hand was, presumably, holding the device at arm's length in order to get this self-image. A blurred Odo was passing in the distance behind him and Quark, now the right way up, was watching his approach. Garak chewed his lip thoughtfully. Quark had certainly looked better upside down. One more message…

Message 7. No images this time. Just words. _"Hi Garak, I got away early. I'm at Quark's. Are you free?"_

Garak took a few moments to regain his composure, started to carefully put away the beading work then gave up, crammed it into a box and headed for Quark's and lunch with the delectable doctor.

****

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time:
> 
> Garak winds Julian up.
> 
> Another dinner ~~date~~ meeting is arranged.
> 
> Again, apologies for the surplus notes... for some reason it has decided to cling to the ones for chapter one...


	4. Flustered...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Garak is a tease.
> 
> Julian bears the brunt.

Garak soon spotted Bashir sitting in an alcove at Quark's Bar. It wasn't difficult as, when the doctor had seen the Cardassian walk in, he had leapt to his feet and waved an arm frantically. Garak thought, not for the first time since meeting the young doctor, that it was a good job the man hadn't seriously gone into espionage as a career. His ability to merge into the background was non-existent at the best of times but flailing a long arm in the air like an excited young T'Siv Nar had the whole bar turning to see what the excitement was. A covert meeting it most certainly was not. Garak crossed to the alcove and slipped gracefully into the seat opposite Bashir.

"Garak! I discovered that those phones have the ability to take photographs!"

"You surprise me, Doctor" Garak drawled, feigning shock. Julian frowned at the note of sarcasm in the Cardassian's voice. Garak gave a weary sigh. He'd spent the whole journey from his shop to Quark's imagining what other mysterious shots of partially concealed anatomical regions might eventually appear in the form of messages. It was only a short walk, but Garak had amazed himself at the number of ideas which had pushed their way into his mind during those few minutes… 

"Did you get the one I sent you?"

"My dear Doctor. I received several images indicating that you were in the process of getting to grips with this particular function."

"Several?! But I only sent…… " 

Garak hid a smirk. Flustered Bashir was a sight to behold. 

The young medic went an interestingly dark colour in the cheeks. "Er… Wha…what… what did I send?" he stammered.

"Oh, nothing easily identifiable," Garak muttered, casting a look at Bashir which fell well into the category of " _suggestive_ ". 

Julian blanched. Garak realised that the doctor hadn't been aware of the exact time that he had started to send the images through and wondered exactly what the man could have been doing that would elicit such a reaction. His mind supplied him with a few suggestions which he filed away to examine in more detail later.

"Of course, if I'd wanted a lesson in Human anatomy then who better than a skilled medical man to give me one."

"Give you one?" Julian's voice came out as a frantic squeak.

"An anatomy lesson, Doctor. Are you feeling quite well? I don't think I've ever seen your eyes go quite that wide before." This was, naturally, a lie. He _had_ in fact seen Bashir's eyes go wider than that. It had been on their first encounter when he had suggested that Bashir might like a bit of enjoyable company now and then… Yes, at that point those attractive hazel eyes had positively boggled. It was one of Garak's main wishes in life to achieve the same effect for different reasons… 

"Garak!" Bashir made a last ditch attempt at sounding exasperated and as Garak gave him a decidedly smug smirk, the doctor's hand shot out with lightning speed and snatched the phone from the Cardassian's hand. Garak gave him a look of aggrieved disgust and took a sip of red leaf tea as the doctor started pressing buttons and scrolling through the set of images which had been sent to Garak's phone earlier.

"There's nothing bad on here!" he muttered, giving Garak a cool look.

"Of course there isn't," growled Garak rolling his eyes. Bashir gave a sigh and noticeably relaxed… Garak casually stretched, looking for all the world like a cat that had got the cream… and the canary… "I would _never_ leave such volatile images on such an insecure device as this…"

Bashir almost choked. "You… What... Garak?" 

"Goodness no, Doctor. I'd transfer them to a different device with a much higher security level needed to gain access…" He found something interesting to study in his cup as the Human virtually imploded before taking mercy on the man and placing a calming grey hand on an agitated arm. "Don't be alarmed Doctor. Sad to say, I'm just joking. There are no incriminating images downloaded to any computer on board the station and there is, therefore, no risk of Quark getting hold of them and using them for financial gain."

Bashir scowled. Garak suspected that he might have come pretty close to overstepping the mark, so flashed a placatory smile at his companion. He reached out and retrieved the phone from Bashir's rigid grip and placed it carefully on the table beside his mug of tea. 

"If it's of any comfort Doctor, you do have a very fetching ear…"

"It is NOT of any comfort…" Bashir modified his scowl into a glare with pursed lips. 

"Then I humbly apologise, Doctor," Garak muttered, automatically removing the label "Glare" with reference to the doctor's face, and replacing it with "Pout", which seemed far more acceptable.

Julian huffed. "Well I was going to ask if you would care to join me for dinner this evening… but after that stunt…"

Garak managed to look so totally mortified that it would have melted the strongest resolve... And he suspected that Julian Bashir's resolve was never very strong at the best of times. 

"Oh all right," Bashir growled, capitulating. Garak thought that he detected a grin trying to emerge from behind the stern words. He allowed his expression to slide into its more usual amiable smile and was slightly disappointed when the pout disappeared. 

"So, are you going to come over this evening?" Bashir continued.

"Come over what?" Garak replied, maybe too quickly. By the State, did this man never think to review his words before they came tumbling out of that mouth of his? Garak found himself concentrating on said mouth and fought to drag his attention back to the conversation before his mind could skip any further in the wrong direction, rendering the question moot. 

"Come over to my place for a meal! I've nearly finished working out what else the phone can do and we could watch a film or something." 

Garak sighed. That meant another evening of watching one of Bashir's implausible spy films… He gritted his teeth and nodded his acceptance, hoping that it wasn't going to be that appalling Bond creature. He'd quite enjoyed one of Bashir's more serious films in the genre, something about a chap called Smiley, except that the name reminded him for some reason of Miles O'Brien, and that was enough to dampen anyone's ardour, thank you very much.

"What time would you like me to c… arrive, Doctor?"

"Would it be okay if I message you with a time? I've got a load of samples to run from one of the Cardassian orphanages this afternoon. The Matron wants a screen run for all the infectious agents known to infect juveniles. I'm not sure how long it will take to finish them, so I could let you know as soon as I know." 

"That would be perfectly fine, Doctor. Thank you. And which film are you subject… treating us to this time?"

"Oh. I thought a Bond film would be… Garak, did you just flinch?"

"Flinch? No, Doctor."

"Hmm." Bashir gave the Cardassian a quizzical look of mild disbelief. "Well, I had better get moving if I am to finish at a decent time. I'll let you know a time as soon as I can." 

Garak watched as the young doctor rose and gave a slight head tilt, before making his way through the crowd and back to the Infirmary. He sat for a few moments, mentally damping down an embarrassing surge in libido before he headed back to his shop to find something tedious to concentrate on.

****

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time:
> 
> Garak finds himself in an awkward situation.
> 
> Julian needs to read the instruction manual more carefully - particularly the section about message length… oh, and check the messages before pressing "send"…
> 
> ****
> 
> Again, apologies for the surplus notes... for some reason it has decided to cling to the ones for chapter one... 


	5. Self-control...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The texts just keep on coming… 
> 
> And at this rate, they might not be all that is…

Colour grading his stock of buttons proved to be a suitably mind-numbing task. 

Garak sat straight-backed at his work table, systematically picking up small strips of buttons, checking them against a palette-chart and organising them into groups. It was the sort of task which he kept putting off, although it was crucial to his work. He had long since discovered that button colouration could vary slightly across items of, allegedly, the same batch number and there was nothing worse than looking at a finished garment and realising that one of the buttons didn't match by 0.25 of a unit on the shade variation index. Granted, the majority of his customers wouldn't even notice - indeed Garak suspected that they wouldn't notice if he had used totally different colours for each button - but his eyes were able to pick up minute differences in shade and it offended him to think of any of his garments being seen in public with any sort of fault.

It was all going well.

His mind had been calmed by the monotony of his actions and the need to concentrate on the mundane, rather than the scintillating. He was halfway through the task… Then it happened. The tell tale vibration against his hip which dragged him back into that restless mental state. He tried to ignore it, but then a second message arrived and the phone buzzed happily against him. He delved into his pocket and retrieved the phone to read the messages.

_"Hi Garak. Just starting the samples"_

_"Me again. 78 samples in total and 14 tests on each!"_

Garak frowned. It wasn't that he objected to small talk but he was slightly baffled as to why Bashir was insisting on telling him every tiny detail of what he was doing. He surmised that it was probably just another example of the usual boyish enthusiasm which the young man tended to show and which Garak had to admit was rather appealing. And these little messages were, he admitted, like little patches of brightness sent to enhance his usually dull day. Getting them was almost akin to the doctor just popping into the shop to chat… He re-read them and could imagine the youthful grin on that honey-gold face, the twinkle in those beautiful eyes… The softness of that voice… 

He chastised himself and replaced the phone, returning to the pile of buttons and trying to ignore his trembling hands…

Another message.

Garak bit his lip. Somehow, in his usually strictly ordered, rationally compartmentalised mind, the buzzing phone had stopped being the inanimate object which he had initially cursed and had become an extension of Julian Bashir. The vibrating alert had become a touch extended to attract his attention. Long, gentle fingers reaching out and caressing his hip with an insistent need to be noticed. 

Three rows of buttons fell to the floor. 

Garak shuddered as another message came through… He held the phone in trembling hands…

_"An extra set of tests has come in. Might be a bit longer than I'd thought."_

_"Looking forward to finishing…"_

Garak gulped but wasn't quite able to prevent a very small, very quiet moan escaping his lips. His mind was hauled unceremoniously back to reality by the sound of his shop door hissing open causing him to fumble the device guiltily back into his pocket. He was not entirely happy to see who his visitor was.

"Lieutenant Dax. What a pleasant surprise! Please do excuse me if I don't stand up. I… I've got a bit of a stiff back…"

"Oh dear," she smirked. "How did that happen? Did you pull something?" Her eyebrows did a quick dance and Garak wondered whether the wretched Trill had some sort of inbuilt ability to sense his discomfort. It was probably a good job that she wasn't a Betazoid. He gave her what he hoped was a cool look and forced a customer-service smile onto his face.

"Can I help you in any way, Lieutenant?"

"Well, I can see it isn't a good time so… why don't I just pop back tomorrow when you'll hopefully be a little less… uncomfortable? It was just an idea I wanted to discuss about a holosuite costume."

"If you want to return tomorrow afternoon, I should be able to discuss your wishes more exten…" Garak was cut off by the insistent announcement of another message. His mind felt the tender touch of Julian Bashir's fingers and he squirmed uncomfortably.

"Are you all right, Garak?" Dax sounded genuinely concerned as Garak muffled another groan and dug his fingernails into the table top.

"I'm perfectly well, thank you. I'm sure it will pass…"

Another message… and another rapidly following… Garak bit his lip so hard it hurt. He nodded shakily as the Trill left his shop, fumbled the phone out of his pocket and flicked through to the new messages.

_"All set up and running, should be finished around 19.45. Will confirm as soon as I can."_

_"Yes, can now confirm 19.45 so I should be free by 20.00 if that is okay with you? The data sets coming out of this screening are unusual. Some strange results. I'll meet you in my quarters. If you're up for it I'd like to try anal…"_

Garak thought his heart was about to stop. He leant forward and hit his forehead hard on the table top… twice… 

Looked back at the message… perhaps he'd read it wro… 

No… he hadn't… 

Suddenly he regretted the choice of the snug fitting trousers he'd decided to wear that morning. They had gone beyond 'snug' and were rapidly becoming 'tight' as a primal tension built with frightening rapidity in his groin… Hot… Hungry… 

He hardly dared move. He was in such a state that the merest suggestion of friction between fabric and flesh was going to have catastrophic consequences.

Then he realised that the message heading said "1 of 2". 

There was _more_???!!

Garak swallowed feverishly and opened the final part of the message. His whole body was shaking, holding on to control by a very thin thread.

"2 of 2"

_"…ysing the results tonight to see if you have any suggestions about why there are these anomalies. You might be able to see something that I am missing._

He _might_ have been able to regain control. 

He _might_ have had a chance to dig deep into his Operative training to employ one of the de-sensitizing techniques which they were trained to use to ground themselves during moments of extreme duress. 

Yes, he _might_ easily have done this, if Julian Bashir hadn't followed his inadvertently provocative texts with one of his little self-images, taken in the Infirmary lab, face smiling from the screen, tunic collar undone and open, exposing a long, graceful curve where neck met shoulder and the pooled shadows of his collar bones. 

The thin thread of control frayed and snapped. 

Garak drew in a stuttering, rasping breath, just managing to hit the remote lock function for the shop door before he slowly - and _very_ carefully - stood and headed for the back room to deal with the matter in hand…

****

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time:
> 
> Nibbles with Julian (no, not _those_ sorts of nibbles… *shakes head in despair* ).
> 
> Results get discussed.
> 
> Julian introduces Garak to the idea of txtspk. This goes down like a lead balloon…
> 
> ****
> 
> Again, apologies for the surplus notes... for some reason it has decided to cling to the ones for chapter one... 


	6. Nibbles with Julian

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Garak drops by for nibbles chez Bashir.
> 
> Julian manages to offend Garak's sensibilities - twice.

"Garak! Come in." Bashir frowned a little as the Cardassian stood outside his room. "Are you all right? It's not like you to be late. I did say 20.00, didn't I?"

" Yes, Doctor. I must apologise for my lateness. I fell asleep at my work bench earlier so I was late getting to my quarters to change."

"It doesn't matter, Garak. Although you know, you could have just come straight from work…"

"My dear Doctor, that would be most unacceptable. To turn up at your door in clothes soiled by a day's work?" said the Cardassian, radiating disapproval, adding quietly " _and other things._ " 

"Pardon?"

"Nothing of importance, Doctor."

"Well the sleep obviously did you a power of good. You look remarkably relaxed. Maybe you should do it more often - speaking as your physician…" 

Garak gave a weak nod and tried not to think about the image on the phone. Bashir waved Garak towards the table where several plates of food were already waiting. 

"I just replicated things that we could snack on while we talk. Just dive in, Garak, help yourself to whatever takes your fancy."

If only… Garak sighed. Oh the damage he could do to that smooth, golden skin - the marks he could leave… The sounds he could imagine coming from those beautifully shaped lips… The feel of that …

"Garak? Garak! Are you listening to a word I said?"

"Hmm?"

"Do you want to try it?"

"Hmmm?" Garak felt as though his brain was trying to wade through a swamp. It was a dirty, sticky and all-consuming swamp, sucking him inexorably to his fate… Bad choice of words… Very bad… He shook his head to clear the mental image.

"The Sha'Che-Ptor." Bashir pointed to a dish of something orange and viscous. "It's nice on these little finger biscuits. Why not try a finger… Garak, are you sure you're all right?"

"Yes, Doctor. I am quite all right. Thank you."

"Only you winced," Bashir persisted.

"Doctor, there is nothing wrong with me. Now, I believe that you wanted to discuss some results from the screening for the orphanage?"

Bashir gave Garak a deeply suspicious look which clearly indicated that he knew that Garak was forcing a change of subject.

"Yes. Just out of interest I ran a few extra tests for a few non-Cardassian illnesses and found evidence of a few individuals who showed that they had been infected with a Flaxian respiratory pathogen - a fungus. I wasn't aware that Cardassians could catch this disease so wondered if you had any knowledge of why there would be a strong T-cell response to it." 

"Tell me Doctor, do you have access to the records which tell you which region the orphans in question have come from?"

"I imagine that I would be able to gain access if I asked. You have an idea?"

"Only that there was a report filed with… certain _authorities_ … on Cardassia many years ago where there was an outbreak of something similar in the farming community at the tip of the Northern Is'Nirt Province. Several farmers became ill, but recovered. The illness was traced to a contaminant brought in on an illegal shipment of grain from Gorat III by a black-marketeer who, needless to say, was amply rewarded by the State for his efforts."

Bashir wrinkled his nose in mild distaste. He could well imagine the "reward" meted out by the Cardassian authorities and suspected that it would not include the phrase "rehabilitation and reintegration into society".

"Do you know if the disease spread at all then?"

"I believe not. The area was isolated and, as the disease was spotted early on, the measures taken prevented any spread from the original source."

"I'll get a look at the records tomorrow then, see if there is a locational link between the positives and let Cardassian medics take it from there if there is a need for them to do so."

Garak gave a swift nod. He didn't want to tell the doctor that it was unlikely that Cardassian medics would be interested in the plight of orphan children despite the recent setting up of the Pa'Dar Trust Fund which was put in place to ease their suffering. Even if they were interested, it would be difficult to get permission for medical investigations to be performed. It was simply not seen as important enough for the State to grant permissions. 

Bashir was silent for a while, his attention entirely on the food in front of them and his arms almost a blur as he went from one dish to the next like some sort of nutritionally-driven hurricane. Garak stared in horror as plates and bowls seemed to empty before him. As though Bashir could feel those intense blue eyes upon him, the doctor stopped in the middle of reaching for another helping of something green and crunchy and looked up at the Cardassian.

"Wha?" he spluttered, just managing to avoid offending Garak's sensibilities any further by spraying crumbs liberally across the intervening space.

Garak adopted a neutral expression, shook his head slowly and shrugged before reaching casually forwards and delicately helping himself to a slice of Hrassi fruit. He had long since given up trying to understand the doctor's eating habits and was not inclined to bring the subject up again. 

"Oh, Garak… I found out a few new things about those phones today."

Garak attempted a questioning sound. It emerged with a definite squeak towards the end.

"Yes. Firstly, you can only send a certain number of characters each time. If you go over the message length it splits the messages."

"You don't say," Garak growled. Now _there_ was a snippet of information which he would have appreciated knowing about earlier. "And the other things?"

"Well," Bashir leant forwards slightly in an almost conspiratorial manner, "you can use a way of speaking to cut down on the word length and number so you can fit more into each message."

Garak raised a brow ridge in question. 

"For example," babbled the doctor, "if you wanted to say 'See you later,' you would simply type in C U L8R!" He held the screen up to show Garak his handiwork.

Garak gave Bashir a very long, very cool _look_. "My dear, Doctor. I assume that you wish me to continue engaging in this method of communication with you, as opposed to throwing this device out of the nearest available air lock?"

"Well… Yes… " Bashir looked puzzled.

"Then might I suggest, Doctor, that you refrain from using that utterly repellent way of writing. Language should be a thing of beauty… an expression of the inner self. What sort of 'inner self' does this… travesty… suggest? Hmmm?"

"You don't like the idea then?"

"No Doctor, I do not."

Bashir shrugged and looked crushingly disappointed. 

Against his better judgement, Garak found himself smiling softly and saying "And there was something else?"

Bashir brightened slightly. "It has this interesting application called 'autocorrect'. It makes it quicker and easier to write and send messages by anticipating the word you begin to type and filling it in for you. It checks the spelling and everything. I've activated it on my phone. Shall I turn yours on for you or would you prefer to do it yourself? Garak? Garak?"

Garak sat in silence and tried to ignore the foreboding which was already crawling across his scales. 

Why, oh why had he ever agreed to this?

****

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: With automatically corrected texts, things can only get better… Can't they? 
> 
> Of course they can't…
> 
> Quark shops for dabo costumes and leaves in a hurry
> 
> Julian gets a small clue…
> 
> ****
> 
> Again, apologies for the surplus notes... for some reason it has decided to cling to the ones for chapter one... 


	7. Closer...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Garak learns the folly of leaving private information anywhere near a Ferengi.
> 
> Julian still hasn't learnt to check his messages before sending them.
> 
> The tension rises…

It had been an urgent order, the alteration of a complete wardrobe of festival robes for the household of Chancellor Mthrin of Crihg-Amarth - currently visiting a relative who was based on DS9 - in time for their Amarthian Bjia celebrations in a mere one week's time. It was going to involve a lot of long hours of painstaking embroidery and delicate beading to replace last year's Bjial beads and thread colours with the new year's ones, but the Chancellor had offered triple the usual fee as a priority incentive and, in the current climate, Garak couldn't afford to turn his nose up at the chance of a solid lump of income. Besides, it wasn't difficult work, simply time consuming and, by The State, Garak had plenty of spare time on his hands and at least while he was concentrating on work, his mind was less likely to drift onto matters of a more troublesome nature.

He sat at the work bench, carefully picking off all the old bead work and placing the beads into pots for sorting later. There was quite a demand for used beads in some aspects of design these days and it would be criminal to waste them. 

Indeed, all was going well. A couple of potential customers came in and discussed their needs while he continued to work, and Odo spent almost 30 minutes trying to catch him out with not-so-subtle questions about his involvement with the Obsidian Order. He had left with a grudging harrumph and a look which suggested that he considered that it was a case of _when_ rather than _if_ he would get the truth out of the Cardassian. 

Garak had watched him go with a slight head bow of respect, knowing that Odo would return at some point with the same questions… Ever hopeful. He didn't mind the Constable dropping in and submitting him to these somewhat mild forms of interrogation. He felt that it was a way of keeping up to speed and besides, opportunities for extended bouts of obfuscation were few and far between these days. 

The embarrassing incidents of the previous day had paled into insignificance as Garak continued with his work. 

The phone remained silent, ominously so. He found himself wondering why and, while the logically sensible part of his mind told him that it was undoubtedly because the good doctor was busy dealing with some medical emergency or other, the other part - the part the existence of which he refused to acknowledge under pain of death, or at least under pain of very serious ouch - was wondering whether the appeal of the idea to the doctor had worn off and whether things were about to go back to normal on the communications front.

That second part was also wondering why this should concern him.

Well, he reflected, at least this was giving him a chance to work without interruptions. Really, he'd wasted far too much time reading these pesky texts and the effects that they were having on him were, frankly, most un-Cardassian. Being thus affected by an inanimate object! He should be ashamed.

But... why was the phone silent? Pushing concern to the back of his mind, he went back to his work.

An hour later his fears were put to rest by the now familiar tingle of the touch against his hip as a message came through. The phone was out of his pocket in a fraction of a second, grey fingers eagerly searching through for the message.

"Hi Gary. Something's come up. Won't be able to make lunch as plant. Talc later."

Garak blinked slowly and read the message again. Apparently, the good doctor was either self-medicating or had been at the brandy already. At least there was nothing particularly provocative about the message… well, nothing too provocative. His eyes were dragged to the first sentence and with a great show of resolve, Garak banished the obvious image from his mind before it could set seed and grow… metaphorically speaking… 

'Concentrate on your work,' he chastised himself… Work!! He stared at the phone in his hand and carefully stashed it on the work table, just out of reach in the hope that this would enable him to focus on the work rather than the distractions presented by the thought of long fingers caressing, demanding.

Work!!!

This was getting beyond ridiculous, thought Garak, staring at the table in front of him and counting to ten very slowly. What was the matter with him!? 

Yes, he freely admitted (exclusively to himself it should be noted) that there had been times when he had given some thought to just how it would feel to be more… intimate… with the good doctor. But these thoughts had always been strictly controlled and only allowed out for exercise in the privacy of his own quarters, preferably with a glass of vintage kanar and to the background accompaniment of a recording by a Cardassian String Quartet. Now it was as if they had been given the Freedom of the City and were determined to exercise their 'right to roam' at every possible opportunity.

Work!!!

He had just settled back into the swing of work when the door opened to admit one Ferengi who, as was always the case when dealing with the Cardassian, was wearing a slightly nervous smile.

"Quark. How may I help you? A nice new jacket to replace that rather tired, old one perhaps?"

The smile had faded as Quark ground to a halt and looked briefly down at his lapels, reaching up to give them a quick tug before realising what had been said.

"Garak. This is a _new_ jacket!" Quark attempted a wounded look.

"I do beg your pardon. I assumed that the look was unintentional. Are they wearing them 'shabby' on Ferenginar this season then?"

"Ha ha, Garak. Did nobody ever tell you that sarcasm doesn't become you? Now, I came in to place an order, but if you don't want my custom…"

Garak would have liked to be able to say that he didn't, but that would have been a lie he didn't want to use. Latinum was latinum, no matter what the source… He couldn't afford to be too picky and while Quark had a lot of bad characteristics, he did at least pay promptly. 

"Please," Garak gestured magnanimously towards the spare chair. "Now, _Mr_ Quark, how may I be of assistance?" He gave Quark his most amiable customer service smile and waited for the answer to be forthcoming.

"I was thinking that the dabo girls could do with a costume change… Something a little more… gossamer?"

"You mean 'see through'…" Garak muttered, a note of sarcasm noticeable in his tone.

Quark gave what could only be described as a lecherous grin as an answer. "I suppose that _might_ be a way of describing it. What do you have that would suit?" 

Garak sighed. "I'll see what I have in the store. Just wait there, I'll be back in a short while." 

After selecting a few bolts of material of a potentially suitable diaphanous nature, Garak walked back into the main part of his shop and was not entirely pleased at the sight which greeted his return. Quark was still sitting where he had been, but in his hands he was holding a small, very familiar oblong object. He was staring at it with an expression which went from interested, paused briefly at a smirk and had finally landed on lewd. 

Garak prided himself on being able to move with the stealth of a hunting regnar; impeccable co-ordination, mind and body in perfect harmony. In future times, looking back at that moment, he would wince at the memory of throwing several bolts of cloth sideways whilst simultaneously hurling himself towards where the Ferengi was sitting, knocking over two mannequins, ripping a large tear in one of the display gowns and narrowly missing demolishing a floor to ceiling arrangement of Andorian silks in every colour available. It was not one of his most graceful moments.

"Give me that!"

"Hey, easy Garak." Quark carefully passed the object back to the Cardassian with a look of innocence which just managed to have enough suggestiveness to make it unpleasant. "It buzzed at me, so… I just wondered what it was, that's all…"

Garak looked in horror at the screen which was displaying a message which, under any circumstances, would have made any cold-blooded Cardassian male's ridges flush with interest. He suspected that his own were probably starting to darken dramatically. Fortunately, whilst the message, in all its suggestive glory, was emblazoned across the screen, it gave no clue as to the sender. Small mercies, he reflected, reading the message briefly and trying to keep his hand steady.

" _Hi. Just trying on my dress uniformity for tomorrow's meeting with the Admirable. I have an over-tight butthole. Can you stretch it for me if I drop by later?_ "

Garak coughed to attempt to cover up the involuntary gasp which the comment provoked. He glowered at the Ferengi, who was sitting, staring at him with sharp eyes as the phone announced the arrival of two further messages and Garak dropped into his chair like a rock.

These messages were like the old Cardassian Public Transport Skimmer Service. Nothing for ages and then two arrive one after the other. 

" _I did try to do it myself, but think it needs your expert attention!_ "

" _I'll come in when I get the chance._ "

The catch of the Cardassian's breath and the shudder that seemed to go through his entire body were not lost on the sharp Ferengi who was wearing a fiendish grin as though he could smell the potential acquisition of large amounts of latinum just around the corner. He had no idea who had sent the messages on the strange little padd device, but he'd worked alongside the Cardassians for long enough to spot a sexually frustrated male one when he saw it. It didn't take an expert on the Rules of Acquisition to be able to link the messages with Garak's 'problem' either.

"If you don't mind me saying…" Quark began, voice lowered in a manner which immediately grated on Garak's nerves.

"Yes, I DO mind you saying…" the Cardassian ground out, hands clenched into tight fists.

"Now now. No need to be so touchy, Garak. You know," Quark leant forwards conspiratorially, "if you're interested, there's a new holosuite programme just arrived from Signiet. Lots of _variable interplay_ with the characters, if you catch my meaning!" Quark leered and made what appeared to be an obscene gesture with one hand. "Tell you what, as you're a friend, I can do you a one off discount! How does that sound?"

"I am NOT interested!"

"It has a very interesting Folarean She-Slave sub-routine…" Quark paused with a frown… "Er… or a Folarean He-Slave… if you'd prefer?"

"Quaaaaark!" The Cardassian's voice had dropped to a low growl of pure displeasure and Quark's self-preservation instincts finally cut in.

"I'll take that as a 'no' then. But keep it in mind and if you ever…. " The Ferengi stopped and held both hands up in an attempt to placate the tailor. "I'll… er… I'll tell you what, Garak… I'll have another think about the dabo costumes and… get back to you another time…" Quark was out of his seat and heading for the exit with the speed of a racing hound, where he almost collided with Julian Bashir who was walking in carrying a white jacket over one arm. 

"Hello Quark, everything all right?" he queried as the Ferengi scuttled hastily past him, looking back into the shop with what could only be described as a worried expression.

"You're going in there? Well, good luck Doctor… He's in a … mood…"

Bashir's brow furrowed in perplexity, but before he could ask Quark to elaborate, the Ferengi had rushed off, leaving him standing there frowning at his fast disappearing figure. Bashir shrugged and walked into the shop.

"Hello Garak, I assume you got my message. I wondered if you could do it now while I've got an hour to spare?"

Garak gave him a look which could only be described as 'tortured'. He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out apart from a slight whimper. 

" Do you mind doing it while I wait?"?"

Garak's eyes opened wide with bewilderment.

"My dear doctor, it isn't the sort of thing one can leave and pick up later…"

"I mean, I'm happy to hang around while you do it… I just thought that if you were busy that I could leave the jacket here and collect it later."

"Jacket…"

"Yes. My dress uniform jacket. I need it tomorrow for this suddenly arranged meeting with Admiral Foster."

"Jacket…" repeated Garak.

"Yes. I tried it on and the top buttonhole is a bit tight. I just thought you'd be able to stretch it a bit so that I'm not fighting to get the wretched thing done up. Garak, is everything okay? If you're too busy… Are you sure you're all right? You look flushed, your ridge scales are dark… I hope you're not going down with something…"

Garak shivered, prompting a concerned frown from the doctor who reached a hand out to touch the Cardassian on the neck, feeling for a pulse point.

"Garak, your pulse is racing… let me just see if…" That was as far as the sentence progressed. In a fraction of a second, Garak found his hand had shot out to grab the doctor's arm in a firm grip, twisting it slightly as he stepped in to the doctor's personal space…

"G… Garak?"

" Tssssak'ot!! What are you trying to do to me, Doctor?" Garak tried to keep his voice steady, but was aware that he had hissed the Kardassi curse and that the doctor had flinched back slightly as he had done so, hazel eyes wide in surprise, lips parted just slightly with the sudden inhale that he had taken. 

"I was… I was trying to see if you felt hot… er… feverish," Bashir fumbled for words under an intense, blue gaze… 

Garak knew that he was standing too close. Knew that he should let go of the Human's arm and step back to a more neutral and less disturbing distance, but the heat radiating just from that simple contact threatened to draw him even closer. Warmth seemed to emanate from the Human in waves, carrying his scent - the overlying salty musk which all Humans tended to have but with the additional olfactory spectrum which was uniquely Julian Bashir and which Garak could have picked out even in a crowded hall of people in pitch dark. 

He was unable to stop himself leaning slightly into the contact, allowing his head to almost fall to the young doctor's shoulder, unable to prevent the soft growl which rumbled in his chest. 

He turned his head, just slightly… his mouth so close to the golden skin of that elegant, smooth neck that Garak could feel the heat from it on his lips. Would the taste be as he had so often imagined… ? 

Not like this. No… Not like this.

Garak gave a shiver and stepped back into the coldness of distance, eyes cast down. 

"Garak? What…? Are you all right? Garak?" That voice, so concerned… 

"Yes, Doctor. I am fine. Now," he forced a bland mask of a smile onto his face and looked up, "if you'll excuse me, I have work to do. Your jacket should be ready by 17.00 if you would like to collect it then?"

Bashir frowned but nodded. He opened his mouth to speak but seemed to stop himself before uttering a word, giving Garak a worried glance as he stepped away and walked slowly out of the shop.

****

Julian Bashir walked away from the tailor's shop giving a couple of backward glances and headed straight for Quark's Bar. He wasn't seeking alcohol, just some information. Garak's behaviour just then had been strange enough to merit concern and he wondered whether the Ferengi would be able to shed any light over what had brought it on. He waited until there was a lull in activity at the bar then caught Quark's attention and beckoned him over.

"Yes, Doctor? What can I get you?"

"I'm not actually after a drink, Quark, just wanted to ask you something, if that's okay?"

The Ferengi gave him a cool look which managed to imply that he objected to wasting time which could be used to make more latinum on chatting with the Hew-mon doctor. Time was money, after all. 

"I'm a busy man, Doctor."

Bashir gave one of his long-suffering frowns.

"Oh all right. What do you want to ask?" Quark sighed gustily and made a mental note to charge a little extra the next time Bashir came in to his establishment for drinks. He gestured to a spare table and they sat down.

"It's Garak. He wasn't his normal self when I went in there just now. I wondered if you knew what had… upset him? I mean, was he like that when you went in there?"

The Ferengi gave a small snort of a humourless laugh. "If by 'normal self' you mean snide and sarcastic with a vague hint of menace, then he was entirely his normal self! But I can tell you one thing, Doctor… I haven't seen a Cardassian showing that much pent up frustration since my days on Bajor dealing with the troops stationed on long term placement."

"Pent up… frustration? What…?"

"You know, Doctor. The kind that a nice night in a soft bed with a pretty girl can sort out." The Ferengi performed a strange sort of wink which made Bashir feel both uncomfortable and queasy both at once. 

Bashir's eyes widened in surprise.

"One odd thing though, Doctor," the Ferengi continued, "he got a lot worse when he got a message on some peculiar little padd he carries. Quite a suggestive message I might add… erm… not that I looked intentionally, you understand." 

"Suggestive?" Bashir frowned. 

Quark nodded slowly. "Yeah. That was what seemed to really set him off. Acted like he'd sat down on a Targ prod. I did suggest he might like to use the new holo-prog to alleviate… Doctor?" Quark's voice tailed off as Bashir stood up rapidly.

"I… er… Thanks, Quark… I… Excuse me…"

Bashir walked hastily from the bar and, once alone, pulled his own phone from his pocket and checked back to the messages he had sent, reading the last three. Realisation hit him. He rapidly checked back through all of his sent messages. It explained a lot.

"Oh shit," he muttered, receiving a look of horror from an elderly Bajoran lady who was shuffling past. His mind replayed the recent scene in the shop… Garak so near, his hand firm on his arm, leaning so close that he had been certain that he was going to feel those grey lips brush against his skin and the almost empty feeling of disappointment when they hadn't. He would have been lying to himself if he had denied that he wanted that contact. He'd wanted… He'd wanted for a long, long time. 

Placing the phone back in his pocket, Julian Bashir headed back to the Infirmary. He had a secretive smile on his face and a plan forming in his head.

****

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time:
> 
> A plan set in motion.
> 
> Action…
> 
> ****
> 
> Again, apologies for the surplus notes... for some reason it has decided to cling to the ones for chapter one... 


	8. When Worlds Collide - part 1.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Julian puts a plan into action.
> 
> Garak makes a decision.
> 
> And the best laid plans......

In the Infirmary, Julian was sitting at his console with his mind on matters which could not really be considered as being of a strictly _medical_ nature, although if pushed he could probably have made a case for it being linked in some way to Cardassian anatomy and Garak's ultimate health and well-being. 

"Doctor Bashir?" Nurse Jabara appeared in his peripheral vision causing him to jump guiltily. 

"Hmmm?" He hastily pushed his phone out of sight under a pile of surgical masks which were sitting beside him.

"The results have come through from the hormone tests on Lieutenants Ylytt. Jabara handed a padd to Bashir and waited at his shoulder. 

Julian flicked through the pages and smiled up at Jabara. 

"So when are they due?" she asked.

"I think they'll start in around 4 weeks, according to the textbooks. Should all be finished within a week. We'd better requisition one of the environmental control pods for them and get it set up for the right conditions. Could you deal with that please, Nurse?"

Jabara nodded and turned to head for her console to begin the task of researching the optimum conditions for the Geminians' confinement. Bashir smiled at her retreating back. He'd been remarkably fortunate when they had assigned her to his team. She was calm, quick and above all, non-judgemental. 

Alone once more, Bashir fished around under the pile of masks and retrieved his phone. He carefully switched the 'autocorrect' function off. He didn't want these messages to be scrambled to give a totally different meaning. No, he wanted the meaning of these particular messages to have a very specific effect. 

He grinned and tapped out a few lines on his phone, carefully rearranged his tunic collar, ran another programme which he had found earlier, checked everything through carefully… and pressed 'send'.

****

Garak was working in a daze. His ridges ached. He could not get the memory of that warmth out of his mind and could still feel the heat on his palm where it had wrapped around the good doctor's arm a short while ago. His scent was still tangible in the air and, for a moment, Garak cursed his superbly sensitive olfactory sense as it kept the memory to the front of his mind.

He sighed and picked up the jacket. Buttonholes indeed… He gave a wry laugh and pushed the thoughts to the back of his mind. Enough foolishness. It was time to stop dreaming like some love-addled juvenile. Best to get on with the adjustments to the jacket so that it would be ready for the good doctor to collect at 17.00 as arranged. He'd completed the jacket's buttonhole alteration and had got a fair amount done on the Chancellor's Amarthian Bjia robes by the time the first of the doctor's messages arrived in a trembling announcement against his right hip. Garak huffed in a mixture of 1 part irritation to 99 parts fascination. What this time? 

" _Hi Garak. I'm sorry, crisis in the Infirmary so can't collect jacket. Would you be able to drop it off to my quarters later?_

Garak frowned, not quite able to believe that the doctor had managed to send a message totally devoid of any spurious comments or even a whiff of double entendre. 

He hit the reply button. " _That will be acceptable, Doctor. What time is convenient for you?"_

At least he'd been able to reply without becoming a shaking wreck of seething emotions and desires. He was just congratulating himself on his calm response when the phone buzzed in his hands. Twice… Three times… 

" _It should be around 19.45 but I'll message you to let you know when I'm close to finishing so you don't come before I get there._ " 

" _Perhaps I could tempt you to stay for quick bite too?_ " 

And a video file. This was a new concept… He clicked to start the video.

Garak slumped forward with a shaky groan as the image of Julian Bashir - with more buttons undone than would be deemed seemly in polite Cardassian society - flashed one of what Garak thought of as his alluring 'come hither' smiles from the screen, murmured an almost inaudible "See you later!" and did a curious face contortion which Garak understood to be called a _wink_. 

It was something that humans seemed to do quite a lot but was seldom seen performed by Cardassians. The facial ridge alignment didn't lend itself to the action and when Garak had tried it once before during a heated exchange between himself and the good doctor, Bashir had asked him if he had something wrong with his eye and had fallen about laughing - quite cruelly in Garak's humble opinion - when he had found out what Garak had been trying to do. Garak hadn't repeated the action since then. 

He took a deep breath and sat straight. This really could not go on. Action was needed. He was going to have to tell the good doctor that he was unable to continue with this means of communication. No need to be totally honest. He would just tell him that it was disrupting his work. That was true… The nature of the disruption didn't have to be revealed. Then this could all stop and he could go back to his dreams and the kanar and the string quartet… 

Normality.

****

As he stood outside the door to Julian Bashir's quarters, Garak frowned and tried to prepare himself to be calm and to stick to his intentions to hand the infernal device back to the doctor, even if those large hazel eyes were turned on him in mute appeal to continue with the foolish game.

He rang the door chime…

The door opened and Garak was several strides into the room before he realised that the doctor was standing there in casual clothes and that the lighting had been carefully decreased to a level more comfortable for his Cardassian eyes. Eyes that were now fixed on the Human, taking in the way the cream shirt fell open to expose an elegant sweep of his neck and a mere hint of shadow in the hollow of his throat, how the material lay in soft, loose folds which seemed to emphasize the lean form rather than hide it, the trousers cut perfectly to show those slender hips and long, lean legs… He had made those trousers for him a year before… He forced his eyes back up to meet the doctor's, trying to ignore the tingle of arousal which dragged itself across his scales and left him dry mouthed and unblinking.

"Your… jacket… Doctor," he muttered, holding the jacket out weakly.

"Oh, thank you, Garak." He took the jacket and lay it over the back of a chair with a casual indifference which, under normal circumstances, Garak would have commented on at some length, but his power of speech seemed to have failed him at this point. Bashir was looking at him quizzically, a strange small smile on his lips. He tilted his head slightly, one eyebrow raised.

"Are you sure you're all right, Garak? Your ridges are getting darker and I can see your pulse is elevated again." Again he reached and placed warm fingers against cool grey skin. Again Garak caught that arm and held it away. But this time he wasn't prepared for the doctor's other hand to reach up insistently, or for his fingers to trace a delicate caress down the ridges of his jaw line. He was unable to stop a soft hiss from escaping his lips before he tensed, ready to pull back.

"No… Garak… Don't… Don't pull away… Please…"

Intense blue eyes met soft hazel, burning with an unspoken question.

Bashir blinked slowly and gave an almost imperceptible nod as he took the one step forward needed to banish the distance between them. Garak's hand released his arm and fell to the doctor's hip, pulling him closer and feeling the waves of warmth rolling over him as he leant into the contact. He turned his head slightly and breathed him in… This time he let his lips brush against golden skin, let his tongue trace a line across the pulse point and gave a gentle nip, relishing the little gasp that this caused. Garak nuzzled further into the crook of Bashir's neck, giving a low rumbling growl as he did so. The human reacted by turning his head slightly to expose more skin. It was a sign of trust and it lit a fire deep within the Cardassian. 

Garak pushed Bashir back against a bulkhead growling gently. He felt the Human's teeth nipping his neck and hissed softly, grey fingers squirreling restlessly in the fabric of Bashir's shirt, pulling it up and diving underneath to trace across his back and sides. He felt Bashir push his hips forward to press against him with a soft gasp which sent shivers though his scales. Garak instinctively rumbled and ran a hungry line of nips up to the Human's jaw line. Julian pushed him back slightly and gazed at him almost reverently before reaching to cup the Cardassian's face and hold him as he leant in for a kiss, tongue probing gently, questioning. The gentle, deep moan emanating from that gold-skinned throat when Garak responded in kind sent a shudder of desire through the Cardassian's entire body and he pushed the doctor back against the bulkhead, deepening the kiss and pushing that fine cream shirt up to gain his fingers more access to that smooth warm skin.

Garak broke the kiss, forcing a disappointed sigh from Bashir's lips which was replaced by a gasp as he resumed trailing nips and licks down his neck, feverishly undoing the shirt buttons and pushing the fabric back to reveal more golden shoulder which was immediately claimed in a series of bites, timorous by Cardassian standards but which caused a sharp inhalation of surprise mingled with desire from the Human. He felt Bashir's fingers caress his now darkened neck ridges, thumb digging in with each movement, then a sharp, exquisite sensation as the Human began to use his teeth in a series of bites, persisting until he had wrung a needy hiss from the Cardassian's lips… He pushed his hips against Garak, leaving the Cardassian in no doubt as to his state of arousal, while his fingers sought access to more of that grey, scaled skin, tugging hungrily at the tunic in an attempt to find a way in… He gave a desperate sigh of exasperation…

"Damn it Garak, do I need a level 8 security clearance to get into this thing?" he growled, breathily.

Garak hummed an amused note against Bashir's shoulder and, without ceasing his attentions to a now reddened area of skin, reached to a clasp hidden under a seam at the shoulder of his tunic, flicked it open and gave a soft groan as the doctor's long and surprisingly strong fingers pushed fabric aside and he began to run his nails across scaled ridges and the soft grey skin between them. Garak hissed against Bashir's shoulder, pushing a knee between those of the other man and revelling in the scarcely muted gasp it provoked and the way the Human's hips bucked, seeking more contact. He was aware of the doctor's breath against his ear, his voice husky and achingly needy…

"Garak… Please… I … want you…"

****

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Will they? Won't they? 
> 
> All will be revealed in Part 2.
> 
> ****
> 
> Sorry for the delay - computer issues... grrrr.
> 
> Again, apologies for the surplus notes... for some reason it has decided to cling to the ones for chapter one...


	9. When Worlds Collide - part 2.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Passions flare.

The words made Garak shake. 

The need which was coursing through every fibre of his grey, scaled body warring against his internal monologue which, as always, was chastising him about weakness and lack of self-discipline in a voice which sounded suspiciously like Enabran Tain. Oh, it would have been easy to take the Human then and there, to pin his hands above his head and let loose that desperate creature within, which even then was rattling the bars of its prison, demanding to be allowed out to sate itself. 

Another part of Garak though, the part which had kept his true feelings locked away for so long, was fighting tooth and claw, telling him that this was too meaningful to allow an animalistic urge to dictate his next actions. He wanted to be able to remember the occasion fondly, not as the time he lost his ability to control his emotions.

He pushed himself back slightly and met Bashir's hungry look, reaching a grey hand out to stroke gently along a honey-gold jaw. He drew the Human close, delivering a lingering kiss which morphed into a series of nuzzling nips along the Human's jaw. Mouth close to his ear, Garak hissed gently and murmured a single word which made the doctor give a softly gasped agreement.

"Bed."

****

The suggestion had been a simple one to make. Navigating towards the doorway when neither wanted to break contact was slightly more tricky. Garak found himself having to steer an increasingly ardent Human backwards towards the sleeping quarters, bodies pressed together as he felt teeth graze his neck ridges and felt the doctor's slightly ragged breaths warm against cool grey skin. He kept one arm wrapped around the slender body, fingers spread across the warm, smooth skin of Bashir's back, feeling the gentle shift of muscles below the surface with each backward step. The fingers of his other hand slid carefully between them, feeling for and releasing fastenings on the elegant shirt, allowing him to push it open, releasing another wave of warmth combined with the scent that was uniquely Bashir yet now with subtle differences as arousal and desire seeped into the Human's pheromonic signature. Garak gave a slightly impatient hiss and hoisted the Human into his arms, carrying him the last few strides and depositing him beside the bed.

Bashir huffed an amused laugh.

"Impatient, are we?" he murmured, fingers again working to release the remaining clasps of Garak's tunic and letting it slide gracelessly to the floor. Garak's eyes followed its path and he gave a distressed sigh as the garment hit the floor, a Celestial-blue pool on the pale grey carpet by their feet. Before a comment regarding the impropriety of this could be forthcoming, Bashir had claimed his lips again in a demanding kiss so that the only sound emanating from the Cardassian was a moan deep within his chest. Garak broke the contact and leant back slightly, grey fingers reaching out to push Bashir's shirt back from his shoulders and away from his arms, letting it fall to join his own tunic on the floor. 

For a moment, the Cardassian was frozen into immobility, eyes drinking in the vision of slender but broad shoulders and soft, honey-gold skin stretched taut across prominent clavicles. His eyes traced down across a smooth chest to the flat stomach, the shadowed pool of his navel and the line of dark hair that began there and led tantalisingly down under the waistband of his trousers. Garak tentatively reached out almost as though he feared that actual contact might shatter the vision before him and that he would be left standing in front of a misty wraith that would dissipate and vanish as soon as his fingers touched that skin. 

Cool grey met warm gold.

Garak gave a shuddering sigh as he traced a finger down Bashir's neck and across his shoulders, eyes fixed on his own fingers and the route they were taking. He splayed his fingers across Bashir's chest, pausing to brush thumbs gently over coffee-brown nipples and feeling a spike of desire wash through him at the gentle but wanton moan that the action provoked from the Human. Garak allowed his hands to drop further as he leant forward to nip the side of Bashir's neck, hooking fingers into the waistband of his trousers and using that to pull the lithe form closer against him for a hungry kiss before his shaking hands fumbled at the button of the doctor's waistband.

Yes, he had made those trousers for Bashir several months before. Had crafted them with his usual passion for creativity and perfection, with the added attention given knowing that they would be worn by someone he cared deeply about. He had tailored the fit to emphasize those slender hips and long legs, just tight enough to suggest what hidden secrets lay beneath the fabric without being overly suggestive. Currently, he reflected, even the loosest cut would have failed to hide the good doctor's needy condition. 

He was beginning to wish that he'd incorporated a quick release mechanism into the wretched garment.

Finally, in a moment dictated by growing frustration, Garak grabbed the waistband in both hands and pulled, wincing internally at the sound of tearing fabric and the sure knowledge that Julian Bashir was never, EVER going to let him forget that moment. He pushed the shredded garment hastily over slender hips followed by a rather lurid pair of underpants which he would have to take issue with the doctor over at some point in the future… Now, however, was not the time. He hissed as he felt Julian tugging at his own trousers and a shiver of pure lust ran through him when the doctor growled hungrily. As anticipated, the clasps to gain access seemed to totally foil the intentions of the Human who pouted in irritation.

"For pity's sake, Garak. First the tunic and now I find that I need an instruction manual to get into your pants!"

"Really, Doctor… If…"

"If you are about to give me a lecture on patience, Garak…"

"Not on this occasion, Doctor… No," Garak gently pushed Bashir's hands away and, with trembling fingers, released several clasps, three tags and some form of Cardassian zipper. The trousers had barely reached his knees before he found himself with an armful of eager Human whose hands were roaming hungrily across scales and ridges, his breathing a mixture of gasps and groans as he collapsed back onto the bed with an imploring, ravenous look. 

Garak crawled forward like a predator. Slowly… With intent…

Long arms slid softly around his neck, drawing him in for a long, hungry kiss, legs entwining with his and that long, lithe body pressing urgently against him, sharp huffs of need against his neck ridges. Garak moaned, tracing his mouth down the line of Bashir's neck to his collar bones, nipping gently and allowing one hand to drift gently down Bashir's side to rest on one hip, feeling the Human push up into his touch with a needy whine. 

It was a powerful drug, being so openly wanted… so desired. 

And Garak burned inside. 

Biting, nipping, pausing to caress with lips and tongue, Garak explored Bashir's body, each soft sigh and whimper, each desperate buck of the slender hips adding fuel to that fire… Cool touches and kisses turned to molten gold. Soft tongue and grey lips found and teased at taut, hard flesh dragging whimpering moans from a golden throat. Scent and taste almost overpowering as Garak felt long fingers clutch at him, catching in raven-black hair, gripping at scales and ridges, dragging him back up for another searing kiss which was broken by Bashir pulling away slightly.

"Garak… Please… Now… I need…" The voice was more of a keening gasp rather than pure speech. Garak frowned as the words pushed past a haze of lust and sank like lead into his brain. He blinked slowly and watched as Bashir reached out to the space beside the bed, his hand returning clutching a small jar which he pushed into Garak's hand urgently. Garak gave a mild huff of irritation and squinted at the item. The label announced it to be a lubricant… 'Legate's Lush Licks'. Garak frowned as he opened the jar and took a careful sniff of the contents before dipping a finger into the pot and licking it experimentally…

"Garak! What…? You're not meant to eat it ... Not like that anyway!"

"Well, it says ' _This is not a food_ '. so I wanted to know why…" Garak's voice tailed off as Bashir gave an impatient sigh… He determined that, at some point, he would be asking the good doctor why he had a bottle of a Cardassian product stashed by his bed. 

Garak gave a soft growl and returned to nipping a trail of exquisite pain down that elegant neck as his hand slid lower and a slicked finger probed gently inside - stroking, pushing a little deeper and feeling an initial resistance fade as Bashir gave a shuddering moan and pushed back against the pressure. Garak traced his tongue softly down to Bashir's chest, flicking his tongue casually over a nipple before drawing it into his mouth and sucking softly at it in the same rhythm as his finger was moving inside… Bashir was arching off the bed. It was a sight more beautiful than any which had been conjured up in a lonely Cardassian mind previously. Another finger followed the first… Pushed in… Gentle… Firm… 

Garak felt a moment of concern as Bashir cried out. Had he done something wrong? He hesitated, looking worriedly at the Human's face.

"Julian?"

Bashir seemed to sense the Cardassian's hesitation. 

"No… It's… good… Really… very… good…"

Garak leant back slightly, eyes scanning the honey-gold skin, marvelling at the subtle changes in colouration spreading across the doctor's neck and chest as his breathing became ragged and his hands clutched at the sheets.… 

"Please… Elim… "

He moved closer, the nipping becoming harder and more frantic as the ache in his own body increased at the simple sound of his dear doctor using his given name. Garak gently pushed the Human onto his front and moved over him, nuzzling his back and shoulders, a soft rumbling growl rising from his chest as he rained kisses and soft bites on the smooth skin beneath him. He settled on his knees between long, slender thighs, dragging his fingers down Bashir's back and halting them on his hips, the silver-grey of his skin seeming to highlight the golden luminosity of the body before him as he coaxed the Human onto his hands and knees. He looked down as he entered, sliding slowly inside and had to stop, eyes tightly closed and teeth gritted as the sensations overwhelmed him. He gave a shuddering hiss as he fought to regain control when the tight warmth surrounding him and the deep moan that the doctor produced threatened to tip him too rapidly over the edge. 

Slowly, gently, he began to move, eyes drinking in the sight before him as his hands traced hungry patterns of adoration up and down the muscles which flexed in the Human's back… His mind soaking up the increasingly desperate sounds uttered by the doctor as Garak pushed deep into him, hissing softly, soothing… calming… 

Garak needed more of that beautiful contact. He drew the Human upright, feeling that warm back press eagerly against the cool scales of his chest and the strong, slender arms reach back, hands seeking contact, fingers gripping his hips attempting to pull him closer. One grey arm slipped around the lithe form, fingers splayed across the heated golden skin of Bashir's chest, supporting, caressing. Garak ran his tongue along the line of Bashir's shoulder, tasting the salt of perspiration mingling with the heady musk of arousal. He buried his nose into the side of Bashir's neck with a groan as Bashir squirmed against him, pushing back against each of his slow, measured thrusts. 

Garak's free hand drifted to the doctor's hip, grey fingers digging into soft flesh, holding him steady. He felt the Human's hand run down his forearm and his fingers interlace with his own, taking that hand from his hip and guiding it forwards, coaxing grey fingers to wrap around achingly taut flesh… to encircle… keeping the hand in place by wrapping long golden fingers around scaled grey ones. 

"Yes… There… Oh, Elim… Elim…"

Garak gave a rumbling growl, grinding his hips against the Human, continuing to caress the slender neck and shoulders with lips, tongue and teeth. Bashir was writhing under his touch - his breath now a series of shuddering, guttural gasps and whimpered cries. Garak drifted his lips up to the Human's ear, licking the skin beneath it gently before nipping the lobe with a shaky hiss.

"Zjhul'yan… am'Arad… Y'mTch… " 1

The words echoed, buzzed, drawing a sharp cry from the golden throat… Garak continued to murmur words of devotion interspersed with nips and bites which were becoming increasingly more urgent as Bashir's movements started to lose rhythm and his cries became mewling desperation… Garak felt Bashir's whole body shudder, felt muscles tightening inexorably around him with each thrust, then felt those same muscles start to spasm as Bashir gave a lost, strangled cry, his back bowing, a hot slickness coating silver-grey and honey-gold hands.

Bashir sagged back against Garak's chest, supported by strong arms and held softly as aftershocks coursed through the long limbed frame. Garak gave a long hissing groan as desire blazed through him, pooling in his belly as he wrapped grey-scaled arms around a soft gold body and thrust hungrily into the receptive warmth, feeling himself start to burn… With a final anguished hiss, he reflexively bit down hard onto a slim shoulder, teeth gripping as his hips drove him deep and he stilled, shudders rippling through his body as he fell into whiteness, where everything ceased to exist apart from himself and the beautiful creature in his arms. 

Breathing in short huffs, Garak let his head fall to rest his forehead against Bashir's shoulder as he tried to regain some semblance of composure. He felt the doctor lean his head against his own with a gentle sigh, turning slightly to plant a soft kiss against raven locks. By the State it was good that Tain could not see him there, spent and vulnerable, clinging to the honey-gold body of a Starfleet officer, so open to possible attack.

So weak… 

So VERY un-Cardassian. 

Bashir squirmed around and sank languidly back onto the bed, pulling the still slightly stupefied Cardassian after him and wrapping long golden limbs around him possessively. 

"I think," Bashir murmured in a husky tone, planting a soft kiss on the Cardassian's nose, "that you and I need to have a bit of a talk…"

All that Garak was able to think as his mind continued to drag itself back to normality was that that tunic was going to be awfully badly creased…

****

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1 "Zjhul'yan… am'Arad… Y'mTch… " translates to "Julian… Beloved… Mine" 
> 
> Next time: 
> 
> There is a "bit of a talk".  
> A tentative decision is made.  
> Questions are asked… some answers are given…
> 
> Thanks are due to Syaunei and Pixiesnix for their valued support and friendship! You guys are THE best!!
> 
> ****
> 
> Again, apologies for the surplus notes... it is still clinging to the ones for chapter one... I'm sure it has its reasons but I haven't fathomed them out yet... 


	10. Coming clean...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Julian undertakes some research - purely in the interests of science, you understand.
> 
> A shower… and admissions.

Garak wasn't sure how long he had been asleep. He knew that Human males were reputed to fall into satiated exhaustion after intimate moments, but it wasn't something that male Cardassians were prone to, in fact, the endorphin rush tended, if anything, to make them more alert, more anxious. The close proximity of a delightfully warm body, wrapped around him like some sort of living heat-exchange system, however, had dragged one Elim Garak straight into a sound sleep. He was woken by an insistent nuzzling of soft lips against his cheek and warm fingers softly caressing his eye ridges. 

"Hmm?" As far as eloquence went, Garak had to admit that his first utterance was hardly spectacular. 

"Did you know that you snore?" Bashir murmured. 

Well, how charming… Never mind 'Oh Elim, I adore you'… 'Oh Elim, you were fantastic last night'… or 'Oh Elim, let's cancel work and spend the day in bed getting acquainted more closely with each other's erogenous zones'. No, just straight in with an insult… 

"Cardassians do not snore!" Garak grumped, removing a long-fingered hand from his face so that he could deliver a somewhat tetchy scowl at a grinning Bashir. 

"Ho… Really?" Bashir made a noise which the UT left as a total blank but which sounded like "Pffft" to Garak's Cardassian ears. 

"No," Garak replied, snippily. "Our nasopharyngeal structure precludes that particular issue." 

"Well, you could have fooled me," Bashir said with a wry grin. 

"Not a terribly difficult thing to do, my dear Doctor!"

"They were rather… nice snores though. Sort of little rumbling hisses. Hiss-snores…"

Garak pursed his lips and glared at the doctor, moving to sit up so that he could deliver the full force of his expression from a position of advantage.

"My dear Doctor… You have said many times before that you have limited knowledge of Cardassian anatomy. Kindly allow me, a Cardassian, to know what my people do and do not do! When you know more about our physiology, THEN you may make such comments, but until th…"

"So we'd better get started then…"

"What…?" Garak squinted bemusedly at Bashir, whose hand had reached out and started to trace along Garak's neck ridges in a slightly distracting manner. 

"Yes… I quite clearly need to fill in the gaps in my knowledge base… If you're up for helping me with a little practical investigation - purely in the interests of research, you understand…"

"Doctor! While I applaud your interests in furthering your research, I really must take issue with being treated like some sort of…"

"Garak!!!" Bashir interrupted, a quirky smile spreading across his face at the sight of the Cardassian starting to get into argumentative mode.

"Yes?"

"For once, Elim - just… stop arguing… and kiss me… "

It was an order which Garak found impossible not to obey.

****

Two hours and an awfully large amount of investigative work later, Garak lay propped up on one elbow, idly tracing his fingertips up and down a golden back which still had a sheen of perspiration from their recent activities. He leant down and ran his tongue across Bashir's shoulder blades, inhaling deeply. Salty, these Humans… He allowed his eyes to drift lazily across the recumbent form as it dozed, a soft smile of pleasure on its face, mumbling gently at the touch.

He felt a pang of guilt as his eyes took in the bruised marks across those smooth shoulders - testament to the desire that had raged through him and which he had been almost powerless to prevent. Never in his wildest imaginings (and he had to confess that some of those imaginings had been pretty wild) had he thought that it would have felt quite like that… The warmth… The way the Human's body had moulded so perfectly against his, moving so hungrily against him, soft gasps of pleasure and moans of encouragement. The memory sent another spike of arousal through his body like an assassin's blade and he bent to nuzzle gently against that golden neck, a soft rumble deep in his chest… Bashir gave a sleepy groan and squirmed round, pulling the Cardassian in for a languid kiss.

"Mmm, hello you," he murmured lazily against Garak's lips, draping his arms around broad, scaled shoulders and leaning in to press his forehead gently against that of the Cardassian. For adult Cardassians, this was a contact of the most intimate kind. A gesture of absolute trust and affection generally reserved for a spouse or those approaching enjoinment… Garak had to swallow down the emotions it evoked, reminding himself that the young doctor was unlikely to realise the significance of the gesture and that he would be a fool to read anything into it.

Bashir pulled back slightly with a wince as one of the bites on his shoulder came into sudden contact with the corner of a pillow. Garak gave an apologetic half-smile and made a mental note to try to rein in his urges in future… 

If they _had_ a future. 

He was relieved to see that the wince had turned into a grin.

"I'll need to run over a few of these with a dermal regenerator before I go in for my next shift… I think I'll keep this one though…" He ran his hand over a particularly livid mark on his left shoulder, glancing up into concerned blue eyes and giving a look which made Garak's heart rate increase rapidly. The hand stretched forwards to trace Garak's orbital ridges. 

""Why don't we get a shower and grab some food? I seem to have worked up quite an appetite." Bashir gave a suggestive smirk that made Garak's brow ridges twitch upwards. He nodded, letting Bashir pull him to the shower without a word. 

It wasn't the largest of showers, standard Starfleet dimensions with a suggestion of sterility given by the plain white of the walls. There was a row of tiles with a dark blue repeating motif which Garak assumed was meant to give a hint of masculinity to the area. He wondered idly whether female officers would have a more feminine colour scheme as he squinted at the shelved ledge running across the far side at shoulder height, noting that it was almost devoid of items save for a small basket of wrapped soaps, a small canister and a bottle of shower product. He glanced at Bashir who was fiddling with the temperature controls and who looked at him with sudden concern.

"Garak? Is everything all right?"

"The lights… With the white tiles, it is a little too bright," he muttered, almost apologetically.

"Oh! I'm sorry, of course… Computer, reduce lighting to forty percent of maximum."

The lights dimmed dramatically to a level which Garak found far more comfortable. He looked up to find Bashir staring at him with a fond expression.

"Is that better?"

"Yes… thank you, Doctor."

Bashir gave a soft smile and reached out to caress the line of Garak's jaw.

"After what we have just done, can you not call me Julian?"

Garak gave a soft huff and gave Bashir a reticent look.

"Old habits are hard to break my dear d… Julian." 

Bashir looked at him almost wistfully… He leant forward and planted a soft kiss in the centre of Garak's forehead, reaching for the bottle of shower gel. 

"Are you okay with a water shower?"

"Water? Of course, yes, but… how…?" Garak was momentarily puzzled. The majority of showers on DS9 were sonic. To have an actual water shower on a station where water was a premium commodity was a luxury.

"Ah. One of the perks of being the station CMO. I rarely use it for obvious reasons, but it is there for after those days when a sonic shower doesn't quite fit the bill."

Garak inclined his head slightly. It had been a long time since he had experienced such a luxury. Bashir grinned. 

"Computer, water shower, 42 degrees, power setting 3." It was a little warmer than he would normally have it, but Cardassians liked that extra heat. 

Garak flinched as the first jet of water hit his chest, sending a fine spray into his face and back onto the Human, who was watching him with a grin. Then the warmth began to soak into him and his scales almost tingled as little rivulets of water began to trickle between them, running down his body like those golden fingers had merely minutes ago. He gave an audible hum of pure pleasure and stepped forwards, letting the water hit his face and play on the ridges of his neck.

Bashir opened the top of the shower gel and Garak was immediately aware of a scent which he had become accustomed to. It was a scent which he had frequently detected on his companion, albeit usually faintly, during their lunch meetings. It had become as familiar to him as the range of natural Human scents which identified the doctor, and he stood there inhaling deeply as Bashir trickled some of the gel across his chest and began to gently rub his scales, palms sliding over ridges and scales, following the lines and pattern with almost fascinated concentration. Garak moved a hand up to assist in the process but found it gently pushed aside.

"Please… Let me…" the doctor whispered. Soft hazel eyes met intense blue with an appealing look. Garak felt his mouth go dry and simply nodded, letting his hands drift onto Bashir's forearms before falling to his sides, giving a resigned hiss of acquiescence. 

He let his eyes drift shut, concentrating on the feel of Bashir's hands tracing every contour of his body with gentle reverence. Each arm, each finger carefully laved, moving steadily down his body… the Human fell to his knees, hands skimming down long thighs and calves, tracing the line of scales which trailed from his hip down the outside of his entire leg ending in a delta of small ridges which spread from his ankle across the top of his feet. Each movement firm but gentle… washing… rinsing… The action was arousing. Not in a sexual way, but with a warm sensuality. A feeling of being loved, cherished… of being treasured.

Bashir rose to his feet and pulled Garak in for a kiss, not arguing as the Cardassian took the gel from his hands and began to return the actions, relishing the feel of the smooth skin as soap-slicked grey palms ran lazily across the Human's chest before continuing downwards then turning the lithe body round to gain access to his back. He let his fingers drift gently across bruises, leaning in occasionally to plant a soft kiss on honey-gold skin and to watch rivulets of suds running down his lover's back, skin glistening, burnished under the liquid film. It was a moment of pure intimacy and a wall of emotion hit Garak with full force. 

For probably the first time in his life… 

He was trusted.

He felt the Human turn to face him and allowed himself to be drawn close, feeling soft lips against his own as they seemed to melt together into a languid kiss… Unhurried… Undemanding… Letting the water wash over them as they pressed together, simply soaking up the feeling of closeness. Garak let his hands slide down to rest on Bashir's prominent hip bones as he held the Human away from him with a resigned sigh.

"You wanted to eat…"

"Mmmm, we should… I guess… " Bashir turned and cut off the water supply with a gentle sound of almost disappointment. 

"And unless I'm mistaken, you do have a shift in the Infirmary starting at 16.30 this afternoon… "

"Garak?" Bashir frowned. "Do you keep track of all my shift times or something?"

Garak gave a sharp huff of surprise mixed with a certain degree of plain, simple guilt at the question. He attempted to disguise it as a cough, but suspected that Bashir had got the measure of him in that particular instance. 

"Really, Doctor… Julian… One should always know the whereabouts of senior staff - in case of emergencies…"

"Ah… I see… " Bashir gave a look of fond exasperation, reaching out to push a wayward strand of black hair back behind the Cardassian's ear. "And you _have_ to open the shop, I suppose…" He gave a theatrical sigh.

"If my shop fails to open then it is hardly going to cause that much of an issue. On the other hand, if the CMO of a busy station fails to report for duty then who will tend all the sick and injured who come thronging to the doors of the Infirmary?"

"Hardly thronging… But I see what you mean." Bashir sighed and pressed back against the Cardassian with a grin. 

Garak firmly manacled the feelings of desire which were starting to flare again at the proximity of that slender frame and pushed them firmly out of his immediate thoughts as he stepped decisively away from the Human, ignoring the petulant whine that the action elicited. 

Bashir pouted as he reached for the towel and switched on the air dryer. Garak closed his eyes in bliss as puffs of warm air buffeted his scales, accompanied by the gentle patting of the towel across his body. It was comforting. He began to wish that his own quarters had this luxury. Yes, the sonic showers were effective, and did mean that he had to spend less time paying attention to maintaining the suppleness of his scales which water and detergent made necessary, but this… Oh he could so easily become used to this… 

Bashir stepped back and smiled at the relaxed Cardassian. 

"There. Feel okay?"

"Mmmmm," muttered Garak eloquently, frowning internally at the way that moments like this seemed capable of rendering him incapable of speech. He reached dreamily for the second towel and began to return the favour, soft touches and gentle encouragement to move in order to reach different areas of the Human's body, resisting the growing urge to lean in and follow each swathed caress with a light kiss or gentle nip. He rumbled softly, deep in his chest which provoked a huff of laughter from the Human.

"What _is_ that?"

"What is what?"

"That sort of… oh… never mind." Bashir's mind had flipped back to the conversation about Cardassian snoring and he decided to avoid the issue. Garak shrugged and continued with his task. He was slightly bewildered when a long golden arm reached back and produced another bottle from the shelf. Bashir glanced at Garak as though considering something then shook his head. 

"I'd offer you some but I don't think it would be compatible with your scales," he muttered.

Garak frowned in question and held a hand out to take the small canister from Bashir's fingers to study. The top had a series of small holes in it. The scent emanating from the contents was slightly sweet, floral and lightly spiced. He sniffed delicately at the top and recoiled with his nostrils curled so dramatically that Bashir just stood and laughed as the Cardassian gave an almighty sneeze and held the canister at arm's length, glaring at it.

"Sorry, I should have warned you - it's talc… Powder? It just sort of finishes the drying process - makes the skin feel nice and smooth."

Garak raised a brow ridge. To him, Bashir's skin was already smooth, silken… How it would be possible to improve on that was hard to contemplate. He watched as the Human sprinkled little tracks of the talc over his body and spread it around in a series of long, sensuous strokes. Garak swallowed, transfixed by the sight and staring unblinkingly at the way in which the long honey-gold form seemed to twist and move with a sinuous grace. He felt his hand drift instinctively towards the beautiful form, the urge to make contact and feel that radiant warmth already a habit. Tearing his eyes away from the doctor, Garak turned away sharply and headed back to the sleeping area to retrieve his clothes.

He'd been right about the tunic. He slipped into it with a barely disguised sigh of anguish as he tried in vain to smooth out the creases, pulling the sleeves into some semblance of order and tutting to himself as he picked small pieces of fluff from the garment. 

It was then that he felt, rather than saw, the doctor walk into the room and pause just inside the door. In the short time since they had been standing together in the shower, the atmosphere had become tense and Garak could tell which expression the doctor was wearing before he even turned round. He turned slowly. He'd been correct. Bashir wore a nervous smile, with raised eyebrows and worry etched across his face. 

"We need to talk…" Bashir said, his voice tight with some unidentifiable emotion. Guilt? mused the Cardassian, or regret… or fear?

Garak narrowed his eyes and stared at the doctor who was suddenly finding it hard to look him in the eye. He'd been subjected to enough examples of earth films and literature during his association with the good doctor to know that the phrase "We need to talk" was invariably not good news, especially when the phrase was uttered in this sort of situation. His stomach twisted uncomfortably and the room's walls suddenly seemed too close. 

"Very well, Doctor… Please… go ahead… " Garak's voice was hesitant, he could barely look the doctor in the eye as he spoke. Bashir's expression became suddenly very serious.

"Yes… Well… This…" he waved a hand casually to encompass the bed, Garak and himself. "I mean… Us… You and me…This... "

"My dear Doctor... Is there any danger of you actually finishing that sentence?" Garak tried to make the question sound light hearted. He suspected that he'd failed. His voice sounded tight to his own ears.

Bashir was staring at him and chewing his bottom lip nervously. The whole effect, thought Garak, would be rather fetching if it weren't for the twisting sensation in his stomach, because this was it after all… This was the moment when the dreams of the last few hours crumbled and the harshness of reality took over. He sank down to sit on the bed, staring at the floor, not trusting himself to look up and meet the Human's gaze.

_"You do realise that this was a mistake… It doesn't mean anything… It can't happen again… We were stupid even to let it happen once… Starfleet regulations… "_

"I… I understand… It's not a problem Doct…"

"Garak? What do you mean? What isn't a problem? You understand what? I haven't even said anything yet!" 

Garak stared fixedly down to where his fists were clenched, white knuckled, gripping the sheets as though they were some sort of lifeline... "I'm sorry, Doctor. Please… continue."

"Us." Bashir walked further into the room and stood cautiously in front of the Cardassian. "I mean, it's gone a little beyond ' _Just Good Friends_ ', hasn't it?" His voice was soft, almost a whisper.

Garak nodded, continuing to frown down at his hands which had begun to twist the fabric of the sheets. "That would seem to be the case, Doctor."

"What I mean is… erm… how do _you_ feel about that?"

Garak raised his head at that point, giving Bashir a long, hard look. All the graceful serenity of moments before had vanished and the doctor was transformed into a mass of awkwardness. Angular and painfully raw.

"My feelings are irrelevant, Doctor," he muttered.

Bashir gave an exasperated snort and sat down on the bed beside the Cardassian. "I'd hardly say that either of our feelings could be described as being irrelevant after… _that_ ," he snapped, then made a conscious effort to soften his tone "Would you?"

Garak drew breath and straightened noticeably, his mind and body automatically clawing their way back into their usual comfort zone of denial and shielding.

Bashir managed a good humoured glare. "I know that look! Don't even start to think about derailing this conversation with your usual obfuscation and half-truths."

Garak inhaled sharply. Julian Bashir was beautiful at the best of times but wearing a look of mild outrage, eyes flashing with emotion… He looked magnificent…

"Garak? Very well, if you won't give me an answer then I'll tell you what I feel and then you can decide where you want to take it from there. This… This is something that I've wanted for a long time. I… I know that maybe you aren't interested in a long-term relationship but… but if you were… interested that is… well… " Bashir's sentences were starting to fracture again as he scrabbled desperately for the next word, his face reflecting the panic that was rising within him…

"Doctor, are you intimating that you wish to enter a more serious relationship?"

"I… I am… yes." Bashir said, haltingly, giving a soft huff of a laugh.

Garak blinked, his mind flashing back to his first meeting with Bashir in the Replimat. It seemed so long ago now, yet it was still so clear in his mind… the same words… a ghost from their past… 

He'd wanted this since that first moment. Craved it… 

"Garak… Elim…" Again a long fingered hand reached out to stroke gently down darkening jaw ridges, sliding back to wrap softly around the back of Garak's neck and draw him closer. 

The tunic found itself, once again, unceremoniously deposited on the floor as Garak was dragged down onto the bed and wrapped in slender yet strong, golden arms. He pulled back from the embrace to frown at the exuberant Human.

"Doc… Julian, your shift… "

Bashir gave a sharp growl of annoyance before his face developed into a grin which Garak could only describe as _sly_

"You said you didn't have to open the shop?"

"No… but…"

"Right!" said the doctor in a decisive voice. He stood and crossed to his comms link, grinning sideways at Garak as he tapped in a command code. Seconds later his comms badge chirped and he tapped it, hearing the familiar tones of Nurse Jabara.

" _Yes Doctor?_

"Ah, Nurse Jabara. I'm not going to be able to make it for my shift today. Can you get Stevenson to cover for me, please? If there is a real crisis then I'll be in my quarters and can be contacted there."

" _Very good Doctor. Is everything all right?_

"Everything's fine. It's just that something's come up that needs dealing with…" He shot an excessively suggestive look at the Cardassian and smirked as he saw the look of pained amusement on his face.

He closed the link and turned back to the Cardassian crawling onto the bed and throwing himself down alongside him with a drawn out sigh of what sounded almost like relief. Garak gave a scornful huff.

"' _'Something's come up'_? Really?"

"Well, I live in hope… " came the reply. "And you haven't given me your thoughts… about… us." The look on the younger man's face was slightly concerned, nervous tension winning out over the earlier amusement. Garak leaned closer, nuzzled softly against the golden skin of Bashir's neck, just below the ear before he whispered in barely audible tones,

"The answer, my Dear… is yes…"

****

And later, much later, lying with limbs entangled in sated exhaustion, the Cardassian stole a glance at his sleeping lover, letting his eyes drift fondly across that face, with its long eyelashes that curved against a gold-skinned cheek, those lips which had just recently been used to such good effect to ease the hunger which had overtaken him…

Something in the small universe that was Elim Garak underwent a subtle shift… Awoke…

It was like the warmth of the Cardassian sun on the parched sands.

It was like a lighted candle giving form to objects in a previously darkened room.

It was like a healing balm smoothed onto tired, world-weary skin.

It was like forgiveness.

****

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: 
> 
> A few more awkward little questions… and probably equally awkward answers...
> 
> ****
> 
> Again, apologies for the surplus notes... still clinging to the ones for chapter one... No, I don't know why either... 


	11. Pillow Talk.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Julian introduces Garak to the concept of food in bed. He is still not convinced…
> 
> Garak has a question for Bashir and the good doctor cracks under interrogation.

It had been slightly alarming when it happened. Garak was sitting propped against the pillows, idly thumbing through a fabric catalogue on a padd while the form next to him slumbered on, face pressed against his hip and one arm draped loosely across his thighs. Then he heard it… A strange, low level growl. Garak was immediately alert, not moving but eyes scanning the room systematically. There was nothing immediately visible.

There it was again. This time he managed to pinpoint the source of the sound.

His bedfellow.

Or, more accurately, his bedfellow's stomach.

Garak peered down at the sleeping form with a look of concern, carefully laying down the padd by his side. 

"Doc… Julian… Julian!" hissed Garak. When there was no response he gave the doctor's shoulder a cautious prod with a cool, grey finger. This resulted in the Human pressing himself closer to the Cardassian's hip, mumbling something which sounded like "Getcha own breakfast, Kukalaka! Those are my Hirat fruit," against the Cardassian's thigh. Whilst the sensation was interesting, causing vibrations to run down his scales, he was still concerned about the doctor and carefully shook him…

"Hmmmm? Wha…? Garak? What's wrong?" Bashir struggled to sit up slightly, squinting into the Cardassian's face.

At that exact moment, there was another loud growl. Garak's eyes opened wide and he flinched back slightly.

"That!"

Bashir moved a hand to cover his stomach and winced. 

"Sorry, Garak. I was dreaming about food. I guess I need to get something to eat, keep the energy levels up…" he grinned and raised a suggestive eyebrow, sliding a hand tantalisingly across the soft skin of the Cardassian's belly and tracing the pattern of ridges which adorned it. "Although… it could wait a little longer…"

"Doctor, whilst the suggestion is more than appealing, I would find it most disconcerting to have to explain to Commander Sisko that he will need to find a new CMO owing to the fact that you have expired through hunger and exhaustion." 

"But what a lovely way to go," Bashir grinned, giving a theatrically wistful sigh.

Garak gave Bashir a cool look. 

"Oh all right!" the Human capitulated and peeled himself away from the Cardassian with a groan. "You wait here, I'll replicate us some snacks and bring them back. Any requests?"

"Snacks?"

"Hm."

"In bed?" 

"Yes. Why the look? Don't tell me you've never eaten in bed!"

"No doc… Julian. I have not."

"Well, there's a first time for everything. Think of it as a touch of decadence," grinned Bashir, heading for the doorway where he stopped and threw a trademark smouldering look back towards the bed. 

'A touch of decadence'? thought Garak, frowning towards the door where Bashir had been standing. Clearly the Human's definition of the word was different to his own. He suspected that this would mean crumbs in the sheets. His scales almost rattled at the thought as he sat listening to the sound of Bashir moving around in the living area and whistling a song which he recognised as a theme to one of Bashir's wretched spy films. 

'Decadence'… 

But it was what the dear doctor wanted to do, and Garak was fast discovering that his ability to deny anything which Julian Bashir wanted had evaporated with that first kiss… Probably before that, if he were completely honest with himself. 

He picked the padd back up and leaned back against the pillow to continue leafing through the catalogue, only to be rudely interrupted by the feel of something unyielding pressing against the small of his back. He fished around behind him and his fingers tightened around a small jar, which he pulled out from under the pillow and studied carefully. It was a rather unpleasant yellow coloured container and, he noted, they had made a considerable dent in its contents during the past few hours… He would have studied it previously, but, he reflected with a smile, he'd been otherwise occupied.

'Legate's Lush Licks', the label announced. Garak glanced towards the door and could hear the doctor in the other room, still whistling happily to himself. He squinted at the label.

'Give the Legate in Your Life a Taste of Pure Pleasure with the Ultimate in Intimacy'

"Unleash the Conqueror in Your Man with our patented Silken Slick formula"

'Note: This is not a foodstuff'

And in very small letters, slightly blurred even to his eyesight, a disclaimer. 'The manufacturers of this product accept no responsibility for damages both directly and indirectly caused by the use of the product and recommend that a patch test is performed at least 3 hours prior to more extensive use.'

Garak frowned at the jar and stared pensively towards the door as Julian appeared in it carrying a large tray, laden with plates of food. Garak stashed the jar behind himself again. 

"I'll just go back for the drinks," muttered Bashir placing the tray on the bed near Garak's feet. Garak studied the tray with interest and smiled to himself when he realised that the majority of items on there were Cardassian in origin. Wafer-thin slices of cured zabu meat, slivers of tojal with a yamok dipping sauce, slices of A'krt fruit and some miniature ikri buns. There were also some small pillows of pastry dusted with a fine white powder which he had never seen before. And somewhere, somewhere in amongst all of this was a familiar smell which made his mouth water. Delavian chocolate. Its dense, sweet aroma was unmistakeable. 

Bashir walked in carrying a large jug of something clear with slices of yellow fruit and chunks of ice floating in it. He set it down beside the bed along with two glasses and flopped down beside the Cardassian, leaning down and pulling the tray of foods onto his lap. 

"Is this okay?" he asked, suddenly sounding shy and uncertain.

"My dear… Julian… Cardassian fare is always acceptable," Garak replied, fondness creeping into his tones as he shifted slightly nearer to the slender body and placed a gentle kiss on a honey-gold shoulder. "But tell me… Why can I smell Delavian chocolates?"

Bashir pointed a long finger at the plate of pastries. 

"That would be these… I… I thought you might like something special. They're called Delavian Delights. Here… try one." He carefully picked up one of the small pastries and held it up towards Garak's lips. Garak reached a hand up to take it but found the treat taken away until his hand fell once more to the bed between them. He allowed Bashir to feed him one of the pastries, his eyes fixed on the morsel and almost crossing as it was moved towards his mouth. Obviously another idiosyncrasy of Humans which he would have to get accustomed to, should this fledgling relationship prove to be ongoing. He bit through the light pastry and the taste of the central delicacy exploded on his tongue, thick and seductive, luxurious, heady… He gave a small groan of pleasure, eyes closed and nostrils slightly flared to heighten the sensation. He opened his eyes to see Bashir grinning at him. 

"They taste all right then?"

Garak just nodded slowly. Before he had a chance to even breathe, he found Bashir's lips pressed against his own in a sensuous kiss which, with the kick of the chocolate behind it, left him breathless and wide-eyed. Bashir drew back again with a teasing smirk.

"Mmmm, yes… They DO taste good… Even second-hand. Now, shall we try the other items?"

Garak, completely thrown, could only nod as he extended a shaky hand to the tray.

****

The meal consumed - at a leisurely pace in the case of the Cardassian, at light speed in the case of the Human - Garak stretched and settled back against the pillows again, relishing the feel of the Human's warmth against him as Bashir lounged, replete, a long arm draped casually across a full Cardassian belly, his thumb stroking the scales on Garak's hip. Garak wriggled a little closer, his mind wandering languidly to thoughts of a decidedly physical nature and wondering vaguely how long it took before Human energy levels were replenished following the intake of nourishment. He was about to try an experimental nip against the soft golden skin of Bashir's exposed shoulder when his train of thought was derailed by the item beneath the pillow which jabbed him firmly in the back. He retrieved it and coughed politely.

"Doctor? If you don't mind my asking.. Where did you acquire this… product?"

"I …er… I don't rightly remember…" said Bashir, sitting up rapidly, his cheeks flushing a delightfully darker shade which made Garak immediately suspect that the dear doctor was being a little economical with the truth… Garak raised a brow ridge and fixed him with an unblinking stare, saying nothing. When it came to obtaining information of any type, Garak was fully aware of just how powerful a tool that stare could be. 

Second denial in 3… 2… 1…

"Really. I can't remember…"

The brow ridge rose a little higher. Still no blink. Third denial coming up…

"I can't..."

Garak didn't move. Didn't even seem to breathe. The good doctor was going through all the classic phases of interrogative collapse and Garak knew what was coming next.

"I think someone might have given it to me ages ago," Bashir sighed, looking fleetingly into intense blue eyes before turning them to study the bed sheets with sudden fascination. "Does it really matter where I got it from?"

Yes, the putative explanation followed by the attempt to throw the question back at the questioner. And, by the State, he did look beautiful when he was flustered. Garak allowed himself a slight tilt of the head and a long, slow blink. He took a delicate bite of A'krt fruit and chewed contemplatively before giving a long sigh and moving a little closer to the flustered Human, offering the plate of fruit in order to reclaim his attention.

"No, my Dear. If you'd rather not reveal your sources. I just wondered how a product, the off-world sales of which is strictly banned, had managed to turn up on a Federation space station. And why…? Idle curiosity, that is all..." Garak flashed one of his benevolent smiles but inside he frowned at the implications. A gift from a former lover perhaps? A small tendril of jealousy twisted in his mind.

His words seemed to suddenly sink into the doctor's head and he looked up in astonishment.

"Banned?"

Garak inclined his head in an affirmative gesture.

"Wh… But… Banned?"

Garak wondered whether this was a typical Human flaw, the need to repeat a question as though asking it the second time was somehow going to alter the response.

"Indeed. The sale of products of such an… " _Intimate_ "… nature is strictly controlled on Cardassia and its outlying worlds. Sale and supply is under licence which has to be granted by Central Command. Anyone found supplying or, in fact, receiving such products off-world and without a licence would be liable for prosecution to the full extent of the Law. And believe me, on Cardassia, that extent is pretty far reaching… "

Bashir winced. He'd seen Cardassian 'justice' in action before… It defied the description.

"Garak, it was a gift… I wasn't aware of these laws… "

Oh?" The tendril lashed itself around Garak's stomach and squeezed.

"Just from a former patient… " the doctor said, eyes wide and a look of panic starting to play across his face.

"A Cardassian?" Garak hoped that his lips weren't curling in the way he suspected that they were. There were very few visits made by Cardassians to the station, but one repeat visitor was Gul Dukat. The thoughts which pushed into his mind at that point were far from pleasant. 

"Cardassian? No. I… It… He was a Betazoid freighter captain, Coraxa I think was his name… I forget exactly, it was a couple of months ago… but it.."

Garak leaned back and gave Bashir what could only be described as a frosty look.

"Do your lovers always fall so rapidly from your memory, Doctor?" 

Bashir drew back and stared at Garak with a perplexed look.

"Lovers? Coraxa? Garak, he was a patient! What do you take me for?!"

"A patient who just happens to give young doctors gifts of contraband Cardassian sex products. Yes, of course... "

Bashir gave a huff of mild irritation and glared at the Cardassian through narrowed eyes.

"Garak, wait… Are you… jealous?"

Garak managed to repeat the "Pffft" noise which he'd heard from Bashir earlier. Jealous? He tried to glare back at the Human, who was now looking at him with wide eyes, raised brows and a lop-sided grin. Garak found that he was unable to meet the doctor's gaze. He plucked at the sheet absently and was surprised to feel gentle fingers against his face, turning his head to force him to look up.

Hazel eyes scrutinised concerned blue ones.

"Coraxa was a patient. He sustained a minor injury during a docking procedure and I patched him up on his freighter while he was still working. He was not a lover… "

Garak waved the jar at him. "Yet… this is gifted to you? Why?"

Bashir seemed to squirm uncomfortably. He was beginning to blush. Garak hastily quashed the jolt of arousal which flashed through him at the sight. 

"It… It's a bit personal, Garak. Just be assured, there was nothing between Coraxa and myself apart from me strapping his arm up and passing a bone-knitter over a few broken ribs. That is all."

Garak drew back further and searched the doctor's face for any further clues. There quite clearly WAS an issue being skirted round and if there was one thing guaranteed to pique Garak's almost terminal curiosity, it was knowing that someone was hiding something… He felt suddenly cold and was unable to prevent a shiver rippling through him. Bashir was still watching him, a look on his face which was one of indecision and concern. 

"Garak? Is everything all right?"

Garak managed a nod which provoked a resigned sigh from the Human.

"Look… Okay… I'll tell you… As I've said, Coraxa was a part-Betazoid and, apparently, he was able to read my thoughts while I was mending his rib injuries. When he was about to leave the station he came to the Infirmary and handed me a plain package, saying that I might enjoy the contents either…" he coughed a little awkwardly, "on my own or with the person in my thoughts." 

Garak gazed at Bashir, who was now blushing frantically and starting to exhibit all the signs of a man about to crack open like a Tronab nut in a vice. 

"I thought it was going to be some sort of food, chocolates or something. I nearly opened it in front of Jabara! Hell, I was going to offer her a share!!" Bashir gave an involuntary shudder at the recollection. Even Garak winced at the thought of what the Bajoran nurse would have thought to the proposition. He suspected that the results would not have been attractive…

"The person in your thoughts…" Garak repeated, voice flat.

"Yes. I… I hadn't realised that my thoughts had been transmitting and… and they were… well… "

"Of a sexual nature?" Garak asked, trying to keep his voice neutral and failing.

Bashir flinched and managed a nod. Garak knew that he should leave it at that, but his mind was already torturing itself wondering exactly what those thoughts had been and, more importantly, who they had been about.

"So," Garak continued "this Betazoid…"

" _Part_ -Betazoid," corrected Bashir. The interruption earned a glare from the Cardassian.

"This _part_ \- Betazoid found a selection of lewd thoughts rattling around in your head and decided that you needed a _Cardassian_ solution to the… problem… Not a Terran one… Not a Bolian one… But a Cardassian one…"

"Well… erm… The… er… _problem_ as you insist on calling it was Cardassian in nature… " Bashir's voice tailed off with a mild squeak. Garak raised a brow ridge questioningly. He didn't actually trust himself to speak.

"I… It… My _thoughts_ were about a… Cardassian…" Bashir actually squirmed. 

_Dukat!!_ … Garak's mind was suddenly filled with a selection of different ways in which the insufferably pompous, arrogant Gul could be rapidly disposed of. His brain ran a rapid filter over the ideas in order to select the most painful method, then began working on ways to dispose of the body. The thought of the beautiful golden-skinned, slender form beside him being sullied… defiled by the touch of that… that… idiot… Garak shuddered and growled… menacingly. His thoughts were interrupted by the touch of tender fingers falling onto his thigh and giving a gentle caress before becoming still.

"It… It was you. I was thinking about you…" Bashir said, his voice barely more than a whisper. 

Garak's eyes snapped up from the fingers on his thigh to the doctor's face. His hearing was not particularly acute in comparison with many species, but he had heard that comment with perfect clarity.

"Me?"

Bashir nodded, hazel eyes filled with anxiety.

"Me?" Garak repeated, mentally kicking himself… Maybe this repetitive streak was not only a Human trait after all.

"Yes. Garak, who else would it be?" Bashir's voice sounded tight and his hand had moved from Garak's thigh, leaving a cold shadow on grey skin in its wake. 

Garak took a deep, shaky breath and, momentarily unable to speak, simply shook his head as his mind ran through all the implications of the doctor's admission. How much longer would they have continued to orbit each other, both wanting, both needing? 

What if they had never… 

He stamped down on the thought, pushing its coldness away and replacing it with the here and now… 

Warmth… 

He was unable to stop his hand reaching out, fingers tracing lines and swirls on smooth golden skin, pulling the Human closer. Gentle touches becoming desperate, a tray and plates crashing to the floor as a primal need to claim each other once more took control until, finally, they lay exhausted and sated in each others arms.

"Doc… Julian… ?"

"Hmmm? What? What's wrong?"

Bashir blinked in confusion, dragged back from the verge of sleep. Garak smiled sweetly at him.

"That… _product_ you were given…" he began, innocently.

"Yes…"

"I couldn't help but notice that it had already been opened…" Garak feigned a serious expression, watching the colour rise once more in the Human's cheeks. 

"I… Well, I… I… "

"Experimented?" said Garak, helpfully, casually leaning in to nip an exposed shoulder. "How very conscientious of you, my Dear!"

Bashir gave an embarrassed cough and plucked at the sheets. "Strictly in the interests of valid scientific research, you understand."

"Naturally. And what were your findings, my dear Doctor?"

Garak allowed a hand to stroke down a long, honey-gold arm and slid his fingers between those of the doctor, giving a gentle squeeze.

Bashir gave a small huff of amusement and drew the Cardassian's hand to his lips for a gentle kiss.

"Well, the research is only in the early stages at the moment and I'll need to carry out further studies to confirm the initial findings… But the latest results far exceed expectations of the preliminary trials…" Bashir managed a sleepy, yet incredibly seductive, look which was overtaken by a yawn. He grinned apologetically, a slightly nervous, boyish smile on his face.

"Garak… Elim… I'd… er… I'd like to take you out for dinner though - a proper date. Tonight?"

Garak's brow ridges rose sharply. Suddenly it was his turn to feel flustered. 

"Yes. I… That… That would be most pleasing, Doc… Julian."

He managed a wavering smile at the Human, trying to ignore the sudden swirling feeling of excitement in his gut. Bashir looked momentarily relieved, then was unable to stifle another yawn, longer and more drawn out than the previous one.

"Sorry, Garak… I can barely keep my eyes open."

Garak shrugged and wrapped a protective arm around a slim body, drawing the Human closer. "No stamina, you Humans," he teased, expecting a rebuttal, but Julian Bashir was already asleep, head resting on the Cardassian's chest. Garak allowed a fond smile and retrieved his padd.

Gkreqassi silks were looking to be the latest 'must have' in fashions that season. He skimmed through the selection and began making out an order, adding an extra bolt of one particular colour, dark green shot through with strands of gold. Yes, that one would suit his dear Julian's skin tone perfectly. His mind had already worked out the design and cut of a shirt as he placed the order and settled down to relax against the warm, golden-skinned body, allowing his mind to drift happily onto what he could wear that evening and secretly hoping that the dear doctor was not going to suggest the Klingon restaurant. Even a besotted Cardassian had his limits…

****

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: It's a date…
> 
> ****
> 
> Thank you as always to the wonderful Syaunei and Pixiesnix for allowing me to bounce daft ideas off them, and for suggestions… Pixiesnix has turned out to be, apparently, something of a _"Lush Licks"_ label expert… ;o)
> 
> ****
> 
> Again, apologies for the surplus notes... still clinging to the ones for chapter one... 


	12. Stepping Out.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Julian takes Garak on their first 'proper' date.
> 
> We discover what happened to _that_ tunic… Yes… the _Past Prologue_ ensemble…
> 
> Garak discovers that Trills can always be relied upon to appear at inopportune times - and they always seem to _know_!!

Garak stood in the living area, trying - and failing- to brush a few creases out of the tunic which, he had to admit, had seen more than its fair share of the floor over the past few hours - and it showed. Yes, the material was extremely comfortable, it fell nicely and flattered any figure, was light without being cold, but _By the State_ it held a crease! Still, there were no other options at the moment. It was either that or run the gauntlet of mocking Bajorans on his way back to his own quarters wearing nothing but trousers and boots. Hardly discreet…

His thoughts were interrupted by Bashir bouncing through with alarming energy, wearing very little apart from a wide grin.

"Okay, the table's booked for 20.15 at R'Piar's, the new R'Yolnian place on Level 3. Is that okay?"

"Perfectly acceptable, D… Julian." 

Bashir stepped in close and ran soft fingers across the top of the Cardassian's chest. For a moment, Garak wondered whether the tunic was going to end up on the floor yet again. The voice was breathy against Garak's ear.

"I'll come and pick you up at your quarters at 20.00. Wear something… nice."

"Nice? So does that mean that you aren't impressed by some of my clothing choices?"

"I didn't mean that at all, as well you know! I meant… well… sexy nice." Bashir stepped back and blushed deliciously. "You always look wonderful… Well…"

"Well?"

"Well… there _was_ that creation you were wearing when I first met you… It was… erm… " 

"I'll admit, it wasn't one of my more sartorially elegant creations," Garak interrupted, saving the doctor trying to find a suitable descriptive for the outfit. "It was comfortable though," he added, by way of justification.

"Do you still have it?"

"No… Unfortunately I had a minor incident in the Replimat when a Bajoran engineer allegedly miscalculated his turning distance whilst carrying a large plate of I'danian spice pudding and deposited it down my front."

"It could be cleaned, surely?"

"Oh, it could be made visually acceptable, yes… And as a Human, with remarkably poor olfactory capabilities that might be all right, but the spiced cream binds dreadfully to that type of fabric and the smell quite rapidly becomes intolerable to my senses."

"So you threw it away?"

"My dear D… Julian, that would have been extremely wasteful. I… _reassigned_ the material."

"Re-assigned?"

"Indeed." 

Bashir recognised the look on Garak's face. It was his _'no more questions, please!'_ look, which was guaranteed to pique the Human's curiosity.

"Re-assigned to what?"

"Oh… nothing… " Garak muttered, finding an imaginary piece of loose thread to examine on his cuff. It didn't work and he glanced up to see Bashir still aiming a questioning look in his direction. "If you must know I made some items for the orphan children on Bajor."

"Garak! But that's… that's so… "

"Unexpected? I do have a heart, my dear Doctor…"

"I _was_ going to say 'sweet', but I suppose you'd bridle at that description as well," Bashir grinned. 

Garak merely huffed by way of an answer and started for the door, only to be halted by a hand grabbing his arm.

The kiss was soft and sweetly lingering until Bashir stepped back and smiled gently.

"I'll see you later. Oh… wait… don't forget this!" He dashed into the bedroom and returned seconds later with Garak's phone. He handed it over almost shyly and Garak took it and gave a wistful huff of a laugh. 

"Ah, an essential piece of equipment," he said, slipping the device back into his pocket almost lovingly.

"Every spy should have one," Bashir quipped, and before Garak could object to the implications, added, "as should every tailor!"

Garak tilted his head slightly in a Cardassian gesture of agreement and left the room.

****

Garak had almost made it as far as the turbolift which would carry him up to his own habitat ring level. It was relatively quiet at that time of the day, being between shifts and isolated from the main section of the station. Why then, out of all the people on the entire space station, did it have to be Jadzia Dax who he almost knocked flying as he rounded the final corner with the turbolift a mere few strides away?

"Garak!"

"Lieutenant," he acknowledged with a slight bow, attempting to maintain his momentum in the vain hope that it would carry him into the lift before she had time to speak. It didn't.

"I don't often see you on this level…" Her look was one of intrigue and total comprehension. 

"I… er… "Garak began, mind racing desperately through plausible reasons for his presence. He had just settled on a stock reply about dropping off some urgent repair work when she carried on.

"So is Julian in his quarters? I have to see him and don't want to waste my time if he's not there. I've been trying his comms badge but that isn't getting a response… for some reason." She sounded so innocent, but had a smirk on her face to rival that seen on Quark when he had run rings around Odo over his gaming licences.

"He… yes… Yes, he is… I… I just dropped some repaired apparel off for him which he said that he needed urgently and… umm." Garak's voice stumbled to a halt as Dax stepped up to him and put a hand firmly on his shoulder.

"Not that it's any of my business, but… Next time you ' _drop off some repaired apparel_ , you _might_ want to take a change of clothes for yourself… Saves anyone noticing that you've been wearing the same outfit two days in a row… If you see what I mean…" She patted him on the shoulder and gave him a saucy wink before turning and continuing on her way, leaving the Cardassian standing, statue-like, in the corridor, watching her disappear round the corner.

Wretched Trill!

****

Garak found himself once more at a moment of indecision regarding his attire. Originally, when the good doctor had mentioned going out for this meal, he had envisaged wearing a grey outfit with dark blue sleeve inserts, a modest creation of his own design which hadn't yet ventured out of the cupboard and into the light of the public gaze. But then the doctor had suggested wearing something "sexy nice" and Garak, with the best will in the worlds, while he could describe the grey tunic as "nice", did feel that it was somewhat lacking on the "sexy" side of the description. Somehow, that shade of grey and the rigidly formal cut of the neckline was a little too… _Romulan_ to be classed as anything other than "smart". He sighed and replaced it in the wardrobe, mentally apologising to it and promising it that he would wear it one day…

That left two outfits to choose from. A deep crimson formal tunic with dark sage-green flashed panels running diagonally across the chest, a high collar and straight hem at approximately mid-thigh level… Or, a black tunic cut scandalously low and asymmetrically at the neck, with a gold chain insert across one shoulder and thin gold inserts down each side to the hem which indirectly mirrored the cut of the neckline. It was something he had created a few months previously in a fit of bravado. He had, during said fit, planned to wear it if he had ever managed to pluck up the courage to ask the dear doctor to accompany him in a Cardassian espionage holo-programme which he had managed to procure through a somewhat dubious off-station source. However, as always seemed to happen with these plans, it had fizzled away like water on a hot surface and both tunic and espionage holo-programme had been consigned to storage along with most of his other dreams linked to one Julian Subatoi Bashir.

Of course, the black tunic did have another thing in its favour. Its fastening clasps were less complicated than the crimson one, in fact they were quite similar to those on the blue tunic which he had worn previously and which his dear Julian had become quite adept at removing. It would mean that there need not be any interruptions to the spontaneity of the situation for quick demonstrations and explanations… That is, should things progress to that level later in the proceedings.

Garak hoped fervently that they would.

He dressed carefully and pondered for a few moments in front of the mirror, debating whether to use plain balm on his facial and neck ridges, or whether to be brave and risk using the slightly tinted one. Yes… why not? ' _Live a little, Elim_ ,' he told himself, tracing minute amounts of the balm along his facial ridges and the centre of his facial _E'Tsev_. He squinted at his reflection shrewdly… The tint was barely visible against the already slightly darkened colouration of the ridges and, for a moment, he pondered on applying it a little more liberally, but decided that there was a fine line between looking glamorous and resembling one of the _Sla'kevOt_ that could be found plying their trade at any of the State-run brothels, and that was a line he was not going to cross. He put the balm hastily to one side and turned away from his reflection before his nerves could get the better of him and he could decide to wipe the whole lot off.

A quick check of the bedroom, a slightly nervous adjustment to the sheets as a pang of worry rose within him at the thought that perhaps his efforts would come to nothing. He dug his nails into his palms and chastised himself for his negativity before leaving the room and closing the door firmly behind him. 

He checked the time, wondering idly whether the doctor would, as was customary for him, be late. It came as something of a surprise then when, on the dot of 20.00, his door chimes sounded and he attempted to remain cool and collected as he leapt to answer it… And stopped, staring in open-mouthed amazement.

Julian Bashir was a sight to behold at any time, in Garak's eyes. But now, standing before him - tall, slender, dressed impeccably and wearing an anxious, boyish smile - Garak felt his heart jump a beat and his pulse quicken dramatically. The young Human was wearing an immaculate three-piece suit, the trousers and jacket the darkest of greys, the waistcoat a green so dark that it was almost black, yet glimmered with a rich depth of colour as the light caught it with every movement. The shirt was simple, a plain white which made the colour of his skin glow honey-gold. His tie a perfect match to the waistcoat… In one hand he was wielding a large bunch of flowers, red and with a light scent which Garak's senses captured and immediately locked into his memory along with lemongrass and ginger as part of his mental filing system, folder _"Julian"_. The doctor's other hand was clutching a box of Delavian chocolates. 

Currently speechless, Garak stood aside to allow him to enter the room. Bashir gave an awkward little cough and held out the bunch of flowers, blushing slightly as he did so, unaware of the effect that the subtle change in his skin colour had on his stunned companion.

"It's an old custom on earth to take flowers to one's... er… " there was a moment of clear indecision on the Human's face as he sought a word which had some degree of safety, "… one's… romantic interest. They're called roses… oh, careful of the thorns!"

Garak carefully took the gift, slightly bemused. How typically Terran, he thought, providing the object of one's affection with a beautiful flower which has spines that can rip through several layers of clothing just in order to get to the skin and perforate it. Somewhat mixed messages, surely? Perhaps it symbolised the pain of attraction or something… 

He carefully arranged the flowers in a rapidly replicated vase before turning to a smiling Bashir who was watching him closely. There was something about that look which was slightly unnerving… the intensity, the pure focus. For a moment, he felt as though he was being read as intently as those novels which they shared… It felt as intimate as the touches they had bestowed upon each other previously… a gentle investigation of new-found emotions. Garak could only stand, mute and waiting, like a man awaiting the court's verdict… 

Guilty as charged.

Bashir stepped forward to close the distance between them, reaching a hand up to drag an achingly soft caress along the Cardassian's jaw ridges. 

"You look… " The hazel eyes roamed hungrily down Garak's body and back to look him in the eye. "…Perfect."

Garak gave a slightly embarrassed smile and inclined his head slightly. Praise of this sort was still a complete novelty to him… 

"Surely not, my dear... One should always accept that there is room for improvement."

Bashir blushed slightly as though he found the giving of such praise as difficult as Garak found receiving it. He gave a dramatically chivalrous bow and indicated towards the door.

"Shall we go?" he said, and ushered the Cardassian tailor out of his quarters.

****

They had managed to get halfway to their destination when a familiar voice halted them in their tracks.

"Julian?"

Garak winced and wondered whether to keep walking or to stop alongside the doctor, who had executed a reasonably spectacular halt and spun round to face the owner of the voice. If he had had a gun in his hand, mused Garak, the manoeuvre would have been fitting for one of Bashir's Bond movies. 

"Keiko!" 

"It _is_ you! You look very smart? Are you going on a hot date?" Keiko O'Brien smiled warmly at the doctor, who, Garak noticed, had started blushing slightly again. He peered suspiciously past her shoulder to see whether her husband was in tow, and gave a small sigh of relief to see that he wasn't… 

Bashir gave her a broad grin, flashing a quick look at the Cardassian.

"Yes. A very hot date," he replied, eyes teasing.

Keiko nodded and, for a moment, Garak thought she was going to press for more information, but instead her attention turned towards him.

"You're looking very stylish this evening, Mr Garak," she continued. 

Garak gave a slight tilt of his head and a small bow in acknowledgement. Whilst he had to admit that the taciturn chief of Engineering had little to endear him to anyone, his wife, Keiko, was the sort of person who was impossible to dislike. She was polite and open minded, and at that moment was looking between the Cardassian and the doctor with her eyes widening as the realisation began to dawn…

"Oh… you're … you're… you…" She stood open mouthed and unblinking. Garak felt the urge to extemporise… and was about to take a deep breath in order to launch his internal default obfuscation program when he felt a tentative, long-fingered hand slide into his and felt those golden fingers entwine with his own. 

Garak looked at the doctor in surprise as Bashir stepped closer and grinned at Keiko.

"Yes… It's our first proper date, actually. We're just on our way to the R'Yolnian restaurant."

"Oh, I've been hoping that Miles might take me to there for our anniversary next month. But I suspect that his idea of a romantic evening will turn out to be a quick meal in the Replimat followed by drinks and sand peas in Quark's." She was smiling, but she looked wistful. 

"Maybe he'll surprise you," Julian said, almost apologetically. Keiko shrugged. Garak suspected that she knew her husband too well to be mistaken, and felt a pang of pity for her.

The look of anticipated disappointment hovered fleetingly on the woman's face before it was replaced by a broad grin as she stepped forward and embraced Bashir, who huffed a laugh. She turned to Garak, who stepped back hastily, wondering whether he was about to be similarly treated. 

Keiko laughed.

"Don't worry, Garak!" she said, grinning before treating him to a slight bow. She straightened again and shook her head slightly. "I _thought_ there was something between you two… Oh, I am so pleased for you both! Well, I mustn't keep you. Enjoy your meal!"

And with that she was away once more, leaving one Human and one Cardassian hand in hand, watching her as she hurried down the corridor.

****

The restaurant was pleasant for Garak's Cardassian eyes, being dimly lit and slightly above the usual temperature of the station. There were large potted plants situated around the entire space, creating the effect of alcoves where the clients could relax and enjoy their meal without having to observe anyone else and, therefore, without being observed. Garak liked that fact, but still found that he had automatically seated himself in a position where he could see anyone approaching the table and the clearest route to the exit, should that be required for any reason. The background music was unobtrusive and gentle, a strange mix of natural sounds, wind instruments and strings.

The meal, Garak supposed, was in itself quite pleasant. The food was fresh and well prepared, the selection of drinks was wide and varied, even to the point of having some very good vintage Chybran wine, a popular choice in some of the more  
privileged Cardassian homes over the past 20 or so years and the product of one of the Cardassian off-world colonies. Its production and sales were strictly monitored by the Cardassian authorities, so the restaurant owner clearly moved in esteemed circles if he was able to procure enough of it to ply his customers.

But, Garak mused, he would happily have sat on a storage crate in the cargo hold eating Bolian stew and drinking root beer if it meant that he could gaze at the vision currently before him. Julian Bashir had relaxed once they had been shown to their table, big hazel eyes apparently locked on his dining companion. His pupils were dilated, though whether this was due to the low lighting levels or desire was debatable… Garak found himself sitting with a forkful of food hovering just above his plate, mesmerized by the Human who, for once, was eating at an almost normal pace. His dreamlike state was shattered when a voice spoke close to his elbow and he realised, shocked, that the R'Yolni waiter had managed to approach them without him even noticing. 

Well, his docent at Bamarren would have been disgusted at his lack of observational skills. He could almost hear the clipped, reedy tones chastising him for his daydreaming… " _Ten Lubak! If he were an assassin, you would both be dead by now! Stop daydreaming boy!!_ "

"Sirs? Sirs!? Is everything to your satisfaction?" The R'Yolni waiter was standing politely by the table, sensory tendrils waving gently across his forehead and amber eyes glowing, his words dragging Garak back from the warm sanctuary that his mind was in. Bashir had clearly been in a similar place as he too jumped, startled.

"Yes… Thank you" they both said at the same time.

"And is there anything else that you require, Sirs?"

Garak bit back the urge to say 'Yes… a private room with a large bed,' and glanced at Bashir who was looking slightly flustered, as though he had been having similar ideas.

"Maybe another bottle of your wine… and the dessert menu, please," the Human said, smiling across at Garak with almost indulgent fondness. 

The waiter hastened away to comply with the request and Bashir grinned at Garak.

"I assume that you want a dessert… " he said, "and I have heard rumour that their Delavian chocolate mousse is incomparable across the Quadrant."

"My dear Do… Julian. I fear you know me too well. The effect on my waistline will be catastrophic!"

"Oh, I'm sure that, as your doctor, I will be able to come up with a suitable exercise routine to burn off any excess calories…" 

The look which accompanied the remark was a suggestive smoulder. Brazen. Sultry… Garak's eyes widened as a tingle of desire rippled across his scales. He just knew that his neck ridges were darkening rapidly, and by the smirk on Bashir's face, the effect was exactly what he had been aiming for.

His retort was interrupted by the reappearance of the waiter bearing wine and a dessert list.

****

Garak smiled as he carefully licked the last remnants of the mousse from his spoon.

"The rumours were quite correct, my dear," he murmured, dreamily, with a sigh of contentment.

"And I presume that you won't complain if I get us a bottle of vintage kanar to take away with us?" 

Garak's brow ridges elevated in honest surprise and in some ways, relief. The thought had started gnawing at him, as thoughts tended to do, about what was going to happen after the meal. Would there be an awkward moment of parting to head back to their respective quarters, or … ? Well, clearly the good doctor was intending a continuation of the evening, and for once, Garak was not inclined to argue.

"That… would be most agreeable, D… Julian… "

Judging by the relieved smile on the Human's face, he had been having the same thoughts. A golden-skinned hand crept across the table and covered a grey, cool skinned one, giving a gentle squeeze and allowing the thumb to brush slowly across grey knuckles. 

"Perhaps… we could take it back to your quarters… and… well, would you object to me staying overnight?"

Garak turned his hand over so that palm met palm… He entwined their fingers. The answer, he knew, was burning fiercely in his eyes.

When the waiter return bearing the bottle of kanar, Garak drew a sharp breath of amazement. It was one of the best vintages you could buy beyond Cardassia, and would not be cheap.

"Julian, this is too much! I can't let you…"

"Yes, you can… Please, Elim.. indulge me."

With a warm resignation, Garak realised that there was little that this beautiful creature could ask for which he could deny. He inclined his head slightly in acceptance and stood up from the table. Bashir rose too, leaning in to steal a quick kiss which made Garak look hastily around in case they were being observed. Bashir grinned smugly at him.

"Would you mind if we went back via my quarters? I need to pick up my uniform for tomorrow. I suspect that Nurse Jabara might comment on my attire if I turned up for my shift wearing this… "

"Indeed. It might also prove to be somewhat distracting for your patients and I should hate to have to come and prise you out of the arms of some lust-fuelled freighter pilot!" Garak was slightly mortified to hear a certain amount of jealous paranoia seeping into the tone of his voice.

"Are you insinuating that my uniform isn't attractive?" came the retort, accompanied by a quirky grin.

"My dear, I am saying nothing on the grounds that it will incriminate me… but shall we just say that their design leaves a lot to be desired."

"And there was I, thinking that you were stunned by my appearance that day we met…" 

"Oh, I was. But I was looking at the contents, not the apparel itself… " Garak's voice had taken on a low, husky note as the memory drifted back…

****

The stroll back to Garak's quarters was leisurely, more of a saunter really, relaxed and comfortable. They walked close and every so often Garak was aware of Julian's hand brushing against his, as though he was considering taking his hand but not quite having the courage to do so. Eventually, as those long golden fingers brushed past once more, Garak, feeling bold and a little giddy, moved his hand and caught them, and held on… He was rewarded with a shy smile and a squeezed hand.

Once in his quarters, Garak adjusted the temperature down a little to allow for the Human's comfort. The last thing he wanted was Bashir fainting through heat stroke - especially when there were several other ways in which the man might pass out, all of them more enjoyable than being due to excessive temperature and several of them involving a stroke of a quite different nature. His mind drifted gently sideways only to be dragged roughly back to reality by the sound of the good doctor searching for, and clearly failing to find, two glasses for their kanar. He interrupted him before those long fingers could wreak serious havoc amongst the glassware cupboard. Honestly, thought Garak, for a man who could perform the most intricate of surgical procedures, Julian Bashir could be remarkably ham fisted when performing the most simple of tasks. 

"These are the items for which you were searching, I believe," he said, immediately locating two plain glasses with spiral stems and tulip-shaped bowls. These were proper Cardassian _k'narTon'l_ , meant for use when drinking only the best quality kanar and had been a gift from a distant relative more years ago than he cared to remember. They brought back memories of a long gone time, not necessarily good ones, he mused, but using them now to share kanar with this beautiful Human would be like a rebirth for them. A chance to make new memories…

He stood watching as Bashir uncorked and poured the slightly viscous dark liquid and passed him a glass. 

"Well… Bottoms up!" the Human said, gesticulating carefully with the glass towards Garak. 

Garak's brow ridges rose rapidly.

"I beg your pardon, Doctor? Is this some strange Terran custom of which I am totally unaware?" It sounded like a strange suggestion, but not altogether unappealing, given the present company. 

"Bott… oh… sorry, it's an Earth form of an informal drinking toast, like saying 'Cheers'… Erm… Shall we… sit down?"

Garak felt almost disappointed as he sat hesitantly at one end of the couch and sipped the drink. Oh, that WAS a good one. Sweet back-notes with a citrus tang which came through and swirled around the tastebuds. Not quite up to the 2327 vintage, but certainly not far off it. He watched as Bashir slipped his jacket off and draped it carefully over the arm of a chair before sinking down next to the Cardassian with a sigh.

"So… is it up to your exacting standards?" he asked, nodding at the glass with a concerned frown on his face.

"Extremely pleasant, my dear, thank you. As was the evening…" he added.

"Oh, the night is yet young," said Bashir, a strangely quirky smile playing on his lips. Garak nodded slowly, noticing as he did so that the doctor was looking slightly flustered and had started to fidget slightly. Bashir set the glass of drink down and gave a yawn and stretch which was so contrived as to be almost laughable, leaning slightly back and allowing an arm to casually fall to the back of the couch behind Garak's shoulders. Garak eyed it suspiciously. He suspected that he knew the exact reason for the action, but it was hard to live through all those years of expecting someone to stick a knife in your back and not feel a little twitchy when a hand - even a golden skinned one belonging to a beloved companion - disappeared from view like that.

It appeared that the good doctor was unsure what exactly to do with that arm. Several moments passed where he shifted it awkwardly, bending it to rest his chin on the hand before stretching it out again. The move was repeated several times before he seemed to make a snap decision and removed the glass from Garak's hands, placing it on the table before he sank back, allowing the arm to fold around Garak's shoulders and draw them closer together.

'Finally,' thought Garak. He had wondered whether the Human was ever going to make that next move. Garak's own strict sense of propriety forbad him doing so himself, although he was steeling himself to try a tentative hand on the knee, or perhaps a temptingly coy smile if it had proved absolutely necessary. He let his eyes drift shut, feeling the Human's lips brush his own with a questioning gentleness as soft hands with spread fingers simply held him close, occasionally caressing… lazily travelling along a road already grown familiar. Garak could feel his entire being seeming to melt into the sensations of such intimate closeness. 

Garak drew back slightly.

"Doc… Julian, is this the right place to be indulging in this sort of activity?" Garak asked. Not that he was complaining really, in fact, over the past few hours he had to admit that when it came to physical contact with Julian Bashir, _any_ place was potentially the right place. But he worried that he wouldn't be able to keep a straight face when he next had to host a meeting of the Promenade Traders Association if the committee members were sitting primly in the place where certain … _things_ had taken place. 

Bashir looked slightly upset. "I just thought it would be nice to smooch a little bit over a couple of glasses of kanar."

"Er… Smooch?" Garak raised a quizzical brow ridge. He was certainly getting his money's worth on the Terran language lessons tonight.

"Yes? You know…."

"I'm afraid that I don’t. It isn't a word I have ever heard before. Define this 'smooch'. "

"Hmmm," Bashir mused, casting a somewhat smouldering look at the Cardassian. "Actually, it would be easier to just demonstrate," he said with a grin, leaning in once more and sliding a hand gently around Garak's neck, spreading fingers gently through raven-black hair as their lips met. 

Garak found himself thoroughly smooched.

He had to admit that, as experiences go, it was more than just enjoyable, letting their passion build oh so slowly… hands gently stroking, sensual, undemanding… 

Warm… Desire escalating at what seemed a glacial pace.

Eventually, it was Bashir who pulled back, eyes searching the Cardassian's face. A question… A request, unspoken.

"Elim… " His voice sounded breathy, shaky. 

"Wait here, just for a minute, my dear." Garak smiled gently and stood up, leaving a puzzled Bashir sitting on the couch, staring up at him with a frown. Garak went into the bedroom. Carefully, he lit the candles which had been placed around the room earlier and turned the sheets back before returning to the living area and a slightly confused doctor. He held out a hand and Bashir took it, still frowning slightly as he was drawn into an embrace and giving an astonished squeak as the Cardassian swung him into his arms as though he weighed nothing and carried him bodily into the bedroom, pausing just inside the doorway. Bashir took a quick look round and gasped softly, eyes wide in awed surprise, taking in the candles and the sumptuous bed linen which he sincerely doubted were normal routine furnishings, even for someone like Garak. The whole effect gave the room a warm, intimate and incredibly sensual feeling. 

"You… You did this for me?" Bashir muttered.

"Well, it would hardly be for anyone else, my dear!" Garak said, trying for a tone of mock seriousness although the warmth in his voice accurately mirrored his true feelings. 

Bashir gave a huff of amusement.

"Well, I'm impressed… Thank you." He dipped his head to catch Garak's lips in a kiss as the Cardassian carried him to the bed and laid him down on it, following him down and crawling carefully across his body, stretching out alongside and giving a gentle, rumbling growl of enquiry as his fingers worked to undo shirt buttons and expose smooth, honey-gold skin. 

He gazed down at the Human, breath catching as his eyes drank in the sight. The hazel eyes looking back at him were wide and wanting, reflecting the flames of the candles; his skin a soft gold, like a pool of warmth against the deep crimson of the satin sheets; his lips… oh… Garak bent to taste them once more, feeling long arms wrap around him to hold him there as the kiss deepened. 

_'Please_ ', thought Garak in a silent prayer to the ancient Hebitian gods, ' _if I have nothing else in my life, please let me always have a bed and Julian Bashir sharing it._ '. He held the Human close, breathing him in, trailing paths with lips and tongue, feeling the long, slender frame beside him stretching out with a languid sigh of pleasure.

Followed by something sounding like "Huh? Wha…?" as Bashir withdrew his hand from where it had slipped under a pillow, and waved something in the air behind Garak's shoulder. Garak left his ministrations to see what it was… The item caused him to stop in his tracks and, had he the capacity to do so, Elim Garak would have blushed.

"Well," said Bashir, a huge grin spreading across his face, "if I'd found a disruptor under there, or a stiletto blade, I wouldn't have been surprised, but… Garak, why do you have a soft toy under your pillow?" His eyebrows rose questioningly. "And… wait a moment. This material… it's that tunic, isn't it!"

Garak gave a small cough and found himself running on autopilot.

"It… must have fallen out of the box which I put together for the orphan children… "

"And just happened to land up under your pillow…" Bashir said, flatly.

"So it would appear…"

"You make toys for the children?"

"Amongst other things, yes."

"Forgive my asking but, what IS it?" Bashir studied the toy with interest, turning it around to look at it from all angles.

"Is it not obvious?" Garak glowered agitatedly.

"Well, it looks like a lizard of some sort… "

"Very well done, Doctor!" Garak said, wryly. "It is indeed a lizard. A regnar, to be precise. One of the native species on Cardassia as a matter of fact."

Bashir nodded. "So… You made some for the kids and decided to keep one?" His grin was teasing.

"I told you, it fell out of the box…"

"Well, if you say so." The fond look on Bashir's face suggested that he wasn't buying that one, as he leant over to place the little creature on the bedside shelf. 

Garak glared at him… He was not, repeat NOT, going to admit the real reasons… and yes, there _were_ two. Firstly, the little stuffed toy reminded him of his childhood pet. He had kept a pet regnar, one of the smaller species which he had saved from a larger predator and kept hidden away in a drawer. It had given him strength and had kept him from total isolation and desperate loneliness - that is until Enabran Tain had found out about it… 

He had never forgotten, nor would he ever forgive Tain for that day and the lesson on the weakness of sentimentality which had been meted out by the Cardassian Obsidian Order leader. The memory was still capable of bringing bitter gall to his throat. It hadn't cured him of his "weakness", merely taught him that all emotions and feelings needed to be hidden away, not only to protect himself, but also to protect those he cared for.

The second reason was softer - it was because the material reminded him of that first day when he had met the doctor… When he had made the little regnar a few weeks previously, all this was a mere dream, an indulgent wish which he had been sure would never happen… He had packed it, with the other toys and clothes, ready to ship to the orphans, but had removed it at the last moment, unable to say goodbye to the one tangible thing that remained from that wonderful day.

"Garak? Elim? Where had you drifted off to?"

Garak was brought back to the present by the feel of a hand carefully stroking his jaw before dropping to begin unfastening the clasps of his tunic, pushing fabric aside to run across skin and scales. Garak gave a soft moan and bent to nuzzle softly at the Human's neck, then…

Stopped.

"What's wrong? I haven't upset you, have I? I was just teasing… I… " Bashir sounded momentarily concerned.

"No, you haven't upset me …Julian… only… well, could we maybe turn the toy round or put it somewhere else… I find it watching us to be… slightly disturbing."

Julian gave a gentle huff, part relief, part amusement. He reached out and turned the little fabric lizard round. "Better?"

"Oh, most certainly," murmured Garak, his attention returning to the taste and feel of that soft, smooth skin. The candlelight cast deep shadows as bodies entwined with gentle, unhurried need.

It was, mused Garak as he abandoned himself to the swell of desire, like finding a place, a sanctuary that had always been there, always just out of reach behind some indefinable door… 

But now, someone had given him the key.

********

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: Garak finds that something is missing…. 
> 
> Meanwhile, Miles finds a strange little device and learns more than he'd ever wanted to know…
> 
> ****
> 
> Apologies for the age getting this chapter out - I think my muse was self-isolating.
> 
> Thank you as always to my dearest friends Syaunei (who planted the idea of the stuffed regnar toy in my head) and Pixiesnix for their (im)moral support and for listening to me babbling on like an idiot.
> 
> ****
> 
> Again, apologies for the surplus notes... Alas… they continue to mock me…. :o( 


	13. Lost... And Found...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Garak loses something of significant importance.
> 
> Julian's day starts brilliantly and starts to go downhill.
> 
> Miles finds something and draws a conclusion…

In the dim recesses of "Garak's Clothiers", said Elim Garak was puttering about, gathering various bolts of cloth, beads, thread and miscellaneous small pieces of equipment before settling down to a day's work. He had two commissions to finish by the end of the week and was already lagging somewhat behind schedule for some reason… He reflected on the fact that perhaps he should have shown a little more fortitude the previous day when Julian Bashir had coyly suggested yet another day spent getting to know each other more closely, but no, he had caved in to the suggestion like an inexpertly made Delavian chocolate soufflé taken out of the oven too soon… As a result of this suddenly discovered weakness, Garak had a lot of things to get done before he felt that he could shut up shop and enjoy another evening with the delectable doctor.

His gaze fell on a box containing his hand-held laser tape and he cursed silently when he remembered that he had to get it repaired before the next week when it would be needed to measure the visiting Filantian Ambassador for a suit that had been scheduled for several weeks. Apparently, the Ambassador had been recommended to use Garak by one of his colleagues and had waited until his work had brought him to Bajoran space in order to pay a visit to the clothier's. 

Under normal circumstances, this would have been no problem, but the Filantians had very strict codes of contact with non-Filantian species which meant a strictly non hands-on approach with all measurements taken at a set distance from His Excellency's person and all subsequent fittings done using a specially designated mannequin and the sincere hope that the Ambassador didn't gain or lose weight too drastically during the process. Garak had created several such items in the past and was happy to think that he was getting a name for that particular sphere of work. It paid very well and the Filantians were renowned for adding generous bonuses for polite service and respectful treatment.

Garak silently wished that a few of his more regular DS9 customers could be treated to the 'non-contact' method of measurement… Really, there were some who seemed to have no idea about personal cleanliness… He shuddered slightly and picked up the laser-tape. At least getting this repaired wouldn't be too difficult. Fortunately, one of the engineering staff - a for once friendly Bajoran - had told Garak that he would have a look at the device in return for Garak just letting his waistband out an inch or so… Apparently, he had been in vigorous denial to his wife over having gained a few pounds and wanted to get the waist let out to avoid having to admit to her that the trousers were getting a bit tight… All Garak needed to do was to drop the device off at Engineering later that morning. 

His thoughts were interrupted by the delicate sensation of Julian Bashir caressing his hip… Not in person, but through the phone which was currently languishing in the depths of Garak's pocket. He couldn't quite prevent a smile of pleasure from creeping across his face as he read the message…

" _This bed is too big without you!_ " it said, plainly and simply… Garak rolled his eyes at the sentiment, but gave up trying to ignore the warm feeling that the words provoked. He felt almost guiltily wicked as he messaged a reply.

" _Well, perhaps we can rectify that situation later._ " and - SEND.

Seconds later came the response…

" _I was hoping you'd say that… Going to be hard getting through the day you realise!_ " and a selection of glyphs which Garak supposed was meant to signify a winking face.

" _You are incorrigible!_ "

" _I'm very corrigible really! Given the right circumstances!! In fact, if you want to, you can 'corrige' me later!_ "

The pest… Garak grinned despite himself. Really, if he was going to get any work done… 

" _Working!! Desist immediately!_ " he sent, with a grudging sigh as he pressed send. 

" _Sorry. I'll let you get on…_ "

Garak put the phone down and tried to assemble his wits in order to start work. He fleetingly chastised himself for being so easily distracted before hastily gathering a few more items. In retrospect, perhaps he should have been a bit more careful about where he put the phone, but he was trying to think through a light haze of lust which had just wrapped itself around him, making his scales tingle in a rather pleasant manner. He set the bolts of cloth down carefully on the work table, gathered up the box containing the laser-tape and set off towards the engineering department.

****

Despite starting off well, Julian Bashir's day took one look out of its metaphorical front door and decided to take a downward spiral. Waking up in your bed to find a sleeping Cardassian draped across one's chest and giving gentle little snores - ' _and yes_ ,' thought Julian, ' _they ARE snores, thank you very much, you belligerent reptile_!'- of contentment had, he decided, got to be a good way to start any day. That said Cardassian had then awoken in a very amorous and quite demanding mood had not been a disappointment either and parts of him were going to be somewhat tender for a good part of the morning.

And that was the point at which things started to slide…

Firstly, his idea of a leisurely cuddle and gentle descent back to normality after their rather vigorous activity was rudely blasted out of the water by Garak's sudden insistence on actually opening his shop and doing a full day's work. Some trifling thing about commissions needing to be finished or something… For once, Julian's charm offensive hadn't worked and no amount of pouting or throwing of smouldering glances had prevented a slightly agitated Cardassian tailor from leaving, albeit reluctantly, for the Promenade and a day's toil over a hot cloth-cutting tool. 

He didn't have to be in the Infirmary for a couple of hours, so lounged in bed for a little longer before he found himself reaching for his phone and sending a message to Garak which resulted in a quick bout of flirtatious banter between the two of them. Garak was getting quite adept at using the text messages, although any suggestion of using a simplified way of spelling and sentence construction was still greeted with a look of abject horror and a brief lecture on 'grammatical correctness' and 'maintaining certain standards'. He grinned to himself at the thought and headed for the shower only to find that the works team had decided to switch off the water supply for 'essential maintenance'. This in itself was not any great problem, apart from the fact that they had waited until he was covered in a thick layer of soapy lather and with hair in shampoo-covered peaks before turning the supply off. He had stood in the shower staring in mute annoyance at the shower head and, as was the usual Human response to any item not working as one expects that it should, aiming a few irritated thumps at it and frantically twiddling the on/off tap which merely resulted in a pathetic gurgle, a sullen hiss and the appearance of a single droplet of water which fell and hit him in the eye.

Leaving a set of soapy footprints behind him, Julian padded through to the comms console and contacted the maintenance department to be told that they HAD sent a message round to all those concerned the day before. He took a deep breath to argue that he hadn't received said message before remembering that he had actually never got round to checking his message files the day before because he had been… otherwise engaged… Fortunately, the engineers were feeling benevolent that morning and told him that they would be able to give him a 30 second burst of water in 2 minutes, so he dashed back into the shower and stood, waiting for the deluge (which turned out to be a feeble dribble), then frantically tried to wash the now drying and slightly glutinous soap from his hair and body. He counted as the seconds ticked by, cursing the fact that the soap seemed remarkably reluctant to wash away… 

17… 18… 19… 20… 

The water snapped off.

"Oh… Shit!" Julian wanted to kick the wall. His hair still felt slightly soapy… Suddenly he remembered that they had a glass of water each by the bed, so pounded through to the bedroom, retrieved the waters and headed back to the bathroom where he attempted valiantly to wash a little more soap away. That would have to do. He did contemplate using the sonic setting to try to remove the residual soap, but decided against this as he had done that once before at college and it made his hair go slightly… well… wild. His fellow students had all laughed themselves stupid and even a couple of his lecturers had been noticed hiding their smiles behind their hands. He really had no desire whatsoever to spend the rest of that day walking around looking like a startled chrysanthemum and quite frankly, he didn't want to have to hear Garak's opinion on it later either. 

Garak. He grinned to himself imagining the tailor sitting in his shop, concentrating with a characteristic fierceness as he stitched some article of clothing or sat drawing his ideas for a new design. There was just time for one more message before he had to dress and rush to the Infirmary - and Julian Bashir was determined to make it a good one. He threw himself back onto the bed, striking what could loosely be called 'a pose'. He took a couple of shots which he dismissed as not being quite up to snuff, before he settled on one which he felt was tasteful enough to provide a certain degree of allure, yet not so explicit that it would cause the Cardassian to slice a finger off on his cutting table. It was the sort of pose which would not have looked terribly out of place on pages of a certain type of trendy, youth-centric magazine and would probably be accompanied by a trite remark about "Julian, 29," being "a Terran medic with an adorable bedside manner who likes nothing better than practicing his skills with his non-Terran partner." He typed a quick, slightly suggestive message to go with the picture and pressed send, then leapt back up and went in search of clothes. He was slightly surprised not to get a caustic reply back from the Cardassian within seconds… Perhaps he _was_ really busy after all.

He jogged into the Infirmary to be greeted by Nurse Jabara who was waiting with a padd in hand and looking vexed. 

"Dr Bashir, those supplies from Frulen V have just been unloaded and… there are a few things missing. I've sent a preliminary report through to the supplier but really it needs your authorisation. This has happened _twice_ now… Can we not get these items from a different supplier?"

Bashir frowned down at the padd and sighed. It was a sensible idea and one which he would happily have gone along with, but he was in many ways tied down by Starfleet red-tape and the rules that trade, even for medical essentials, was strictly governed by Starfleet policy. 

"Thank you, Nurse Jabara. I'll get on to that later and try to have a word with Commander Sisko about authorising a new supply route."

"Ah, well talking of Commander Sisko, he dropped by 5 minutes before you came in and asked me to tell you that he wanted a word with you in his office as soon as you got in."

Julian never liked these 'Come and see me' directives. They were frequently pertaining to matters over which he had no real control and he often came out of the meetings wondering why he'd even been asked to attend in the first place as the end result was usually a foregone conclusion. Commander Sisko had a policy, however, of including his senior staff as much as possible, which Julian supposed was better than a commanding officer who just walked over his staff wearing size 12 authoritarian boots.

He was walking through Ops and standing patiently at Sisko's door a mere 10 minutes later. It hissed open and he walked in to find Sisko tapping a padd and looking slightly displeased. Bashir found himself with an automatically guilty feeling creeping across him - a residual issue which had haunted him from his early school days when the blame for anything that got broken or went missing was always laid firmly at his feet along with the words "It was Jules! He broke it…" Then would come the inevitable sigh of reluctant acceptance from the teacher and a tired request that he should "Try to be more careful, Jules dear," as they patted him patronisingly on the head and sent him back out to the play area to face the derision of his peers. 

His school days most certainly had NOT been the happiest of his life…

"You wanted to see me, Sir?"

"Yes, thank you for coming over, Doctor. It's about the conference on Jaqor Beta next week."

"Yes? I believe that Dr Y'Lan is attending…"

"That was the plan," Sisko interrupted, "but the authorities have just sent word to say that Dr Y'Lan is unable to attend due to extenuating circumstances so they are in need of a speaker and a host in the Q and A sessions each day. They requested that you should attend in her stead."

"I…" began Bashir, then looked at Sisko's face and fell silent. He nodded. "Thank you, Sir," he muttered lamely, provoking a slightly puzzled frown from his CO. 

"Is something wrong, Dr Bashir?"

"Er… no, Sir." Bashir frowned and took a deep breath. "Is it possible to take a guest… Sir?"

"I'm sorry, Doctor, that really would be out of the question. The details of the meeting will be sent through to you later today. Dismiss, Doctor."

Bashir felt his heart sink as he left Ops to head back to the Infirmary. Under normal circumstances he would have jumped at the chance to attend the meeting which was only the second ever meeting of the Xeno-Directed Pathogen Advisory Committee and included a collection of top research workers from across the Alpha Quadrant. Now however, the only thing he could think of was that it would mean several days away, just when the fledgling relationship with Garak was getting more intense and when he felt that he wanted to be with him as much as possible. Even in those few short days, he had come to realise that he was already addicted to the feeling of that cool, scaled body against his in bed, and waking up to the Cardassian's grumbling tetchiness about some trivial incident in the night. Anyone would think that he'd elbowed him in the stomach on purpose… He couldn't help having sharp elbows… The thought made him smile.

The smile vanished when he realised that he had totally forgotten to mention the missing supplies… Well, he'd sort them out later… He dragged his phone from his pocket and sent a quick message to Garak suggesting an unscheduled lunchtime meeting in his quarters and sent it with a grin, then sat back to await the response…

****

In Engineering, Chief Miles O'Brien was sitting at his desk, steadily working his way through a series of status reports for the previous day and reflecting that he could really do with being able to get more hands-on work instead of being confined more and more to what was still laughably known as ' _paperwork_ '. He sighed and picked up the next padd, starting to scan through the reports of work pending and new jobs and assigning work teams to the tasks, when the door to his office hissed open and a newly recruited young Bolian engineering student walked shyly into the room.

"Shq'na? Can I help you?"

"Excuse me, Chief O'Brien. I was transferring the various works items for the day and I found this with them. Everything else is identification labelled but this one is not. It isn't familiar to me, so I thought I should bring it to you." The Bolian cautiously placed the item on the desk in front of O'Brien and backed away as though she expected it to explode or something.

"Thanks, Shq'na. I'll have a look at it when I've finished these lists." O'Brien dismissed her with a curt nod and waited until the door hissed closed again before allowing his gaze to travel to the strange little item in front of him.

Like a padd… but smaller… numbers and letters in typical keypad layout on the front and what was probably a screen. The object rang a faint bell with him for some reason. He was sure that he'd seen one somewhere before, not in the flesh, so to speak, but… Of course… He gave a self appreciative grunt as he turned to object over a couple of times. He'd always been labelled a bit of a techno nerd in the past, and the past _was_ where this fascinating item had come from. He'd done a dissertation in his final year at the Academy entitled ' _Development of Inter-personnel Communications Through History_ ' and he was almost certain that this was something that he had seen when he was researching the topic. Well, only one way to find out, he supposed, dimly hoping that he wasn't about to detonate a small explosive device…

Which, in a manner of speaking, he was… 

O'Brien dredged his memory for anything he could remember about this kind of device. 'Mobiles' they had called them, he seemed to recall… A major communications technology of the late 20th and early 21st century and a major leap forward in telephonics, allowing contact to be made from any location whilst on the move as opposed to the static type of system which preceded them. So, if his memory served him correctly, it should switch on by pressing… this button. 

The screen glowed into life and O'Brien grinned. He'd always suspected that his dissertation would come in useful one day. So 'that' to all those fellow students who had sniggered at his choice of topic. Now, somewhere on here there could be some clue as to the owner of the device… Inbox, well, that sounded promising… 

' _You have 2 new messages_ '

The most recent message seemed to be a slightly saucy invitation to lunch at someone's quarters… 

" _Fancy lunch (and maybe more) with me in my quarters? Having a bit of a grim morning and need something to take my mind off it… and you are remarkably skilled at doing that…_ "

Well… no clues there… Maybe the one before… 

JAYSUS!!!

O'Brien stared at the screen with a look of abject horror. The image in front of him was one CMO in a state of undress apart from a bed sheet which was, thanks be to all the saints, strategically draped across the lower part of his torso. The image quite obviously intended to make one statement as the subject pouted at the camera with a smoulderingly invitational look, one hand with fingers spread clearly stroking the prominent collar bones seductively. And an attached message… " _Take me, I'm yours!_ " 

He rapidly closed the image and moved to the previous message, which appeared to be some suggestive banter about being incorrigible but still no direct comment to say who the device actually belonged to. Still, from the content he had seen so far it quite obviously belonged to Julian's latest love interest. He sighed. And there he had been, thinking that the young doctor had seemed a little less hormonally driven over the past few months. That lad needed a bit of stability in his life. Ah well, maybe this lassie would be 'the one' to tame young Julian Bashir. He checked the time… Almost lunch break, and that last message had said that Julian would be in his quarters at lunch, so if he took the mobile to Julian now, he could pass it back to his lady friend. 

Miles O'Brien switched off the device and slipped it into his pocket.

He cast a quick look round the department to make sure that everyone was occupied and headed for Julian Bashir's quarters.

****

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: Miles returns an item to Julian and hears something which he wishes he hadn't. Naturally, he is totally understanding... Pffft.
> 
> As always, massive gratitude to Syaunei and Pixiesnix for acting as sounding boards and keeping me sane… ish…


	14. True Colours...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Miles returns the phone to Julian - It doesn't go well.

Julian was in his quarters, idly thumb-skimming through a few medical papers on his padd and feeling tense about having to tell Garak about the impending meeting. He had been slightly puzzled by the lack of response to his last messages, as the Cardassian invariably insisted on having the last word both verbally and in text messages… His total lack of response was unusual. The clang of the door chime however, broke into his thoughts. Great, so Garak had received his message after all. 

He walked to the door, pressed the access pad and…

"Miles?!" He hoped that his expression didn't actually look as disappointed as he felt that it might. Apparently, however, it did…

"Well, nice to see you too, Julian!" said O'Brien with what bordered on sarcasm. 

"I… er… sorry. Come in… What can I do for you?"

"I came to return this," O'Brien said as he walked past Julian and into the room, producing the phone from his pocket and waggling it in front of Julian's nose with an almost embarrassed grin. "Maybe you should tell your new lady friend to be more careful about leaving it lying around the place?"

Julian stopped his hand midway to taking hold of the phone. 

"My… what?"

"Your lady friend… girlfriend… bit of fluff… whatever you want to call her." he gave the slightly embarrassed huff of laughter of a man who felt that he should be able to deal with this situation but had discovered that it made him feel a little bit uncomfortable… "She must be a pretty hot prospect if you're sending her that sort of thing… " 

"You… you saw the messages?" 

"I'm sorry, Julian, I had to look to see who it belonged to. Luckily I… well… the picture was a bit of a giveaway." O'Brien went slightly pink in the cheeks.

"But… sorry Miles, this is Garak's phone…" he said, before his mind had a chance to process the conversation any further. 

"Jaysus Julian," O'Brien gave a short bark of a laugh, "for one moment there I thought you said it was G… " the voice tailed off in a sort of strangled plosive.

Julian looked up to see O'Brien's eyes widening slowly in some sort of realisation, his lips tightening and his cheeks darkening, two fiery red patches that looked as though you could probably fry eggs on them.

"Garak's phone…?" One eyebrow remained elevated in incredulous astonishment as the rest of O'Brien's face crashed into utter horror. 

Julian nodded mutely.

"Garak's… phone…?!" repeated O'Brien, like a drowning man desperately looking for a tiny bit of hope to cling to in a conversation which was rapidly heading into deep waters.

"Yes," Julian muttered, aware that the conversation could go in one of two directions. Firstly, there could be a mildly embarrassed silence, followed by an exchange of looks from Miles which said _'Well this is embarrassing, let's pretend it hasn't happened and agree never to mention it again and shall we meet for a manly game of darts and a pint later in the week when I feel less awkward about this_ ?' Or secondly…

"You sent _that_ picture to _Garak_ ??? And those messages? To _GARAK_??? What the FECK are you playing at, Julian?!"

_So, it was going to be the second option then…_

"I'm not 'playing' at anything, Miles," Julian muttered, already weary of the direction in which the conversation seemed to be heading.

"So this isn't a joke? You actually sent that… that… THAT to him in seriousness?!" O'Brien's cheeks were getting to the shade of red which had Julian almost worried on medical grounds.

"Yes."

"I can't believe you did that! What the… Why?"

"To be honest, Miles, it is up to me who I send messages to and it's nobody else's concern."

O'Brien stood for a moment gaping like an astonished koi carp. Julian suspected that he'd been expecting a denial, expecting Julian to say it was all a joke… Julian's anger flared. 

"You mean that you and that… that Cardi bastard are… are… ?"

Julian raised an eyebrow. He most certainly did not feel like helping O'Brien out by providing him with a suitable word.

"Are _what,_ Miles? Hmmm?" Julian's voice had dropped to a dangerously low level, daring the accusation to be dropped into the space between them.

"Are... you know… that…" he stammered out waving a hand helplessly towards the phone in Julian's hand, obviously hoping that the messages made his point.

"Are you asking whether Garak and I are in a relationship?"

"Well… I guess so." O'Brien's expression wavered between relief that he no longer had to search for a suitable verb to describe the activity and a sort of suspended dread at actually hearing the answer.

"Well, not that it is any of your business really, but yes, we are. Do you have a problem with that, _Chief_ O'Brien?"

"Do _I_ have a problem? Me? It's you that has the problem _Doctor_ Bashir. Oh, I knew you could be immature and gullible, but this just about takes the biscuit. What? He comes on to you with a big sob story about being all alone here with no friends and you take pity on him and… let him… let him…" again the hand flapped feebly towards the phone. 

"Let him what? Fuck me? Yes, I do… frequently. And you know what? He's damned good!" Julian winced slightly at his own words, but O'Brien's words had stung and he had reacted instinctively, aiming to shock.

O'Brien went a peculiar shade of puce and spluttered.

"Well it didn't take a lot to recognise that one was an 'artistic type', but you? You?!" O'Brien sneered. His voice had risen and he virtually spat the words out.

"I have no qualms about my sexuality, or Garak's for that matter. It's a shame that you seem to have a different opinion."

"What the hell do you think he is after? You and him in a happy-ever-after relationship? Come off it, Julian… He's a Cardi and they don't have feelings! He's playing you… He's after information and once he gets what he wants then he'll drop you like a scalding hot potato! And you fell for it! Jaysus, you're a bloody idiot… !"

Julian stood looking at O'Brien. He was starting to shake slightly as the emotion began to bubble to the surface, white hot and angry…

"Enough! You should go… Now… "

"Can't you see? He's …"

"I said enough! Just get out and take your bigoted opinions with you. GO!"

Miles O'Brien span on his heel and stormed out, leaving a venomous curse floating in the air as he left. 

Julian stood for a moment then realised that he was shaking with anger. He managed to waver across the room to the couch and dropped onto it, legs no longer seeming to function properly. He took several deep breaths, hoping to feel calmness wash over him, but all that happened was that he kept hearing Miles O'Brien's bitter words over and over in his head… 

' _He's playing you… He's after information_ …' No… It wasn't like that… 

' _He's playing you… He's after information and once he gets what he wants then he'll drop you like a scalding hot potato!_ ' 

' _What the hell do you think he is after? You and him in a happy-ever-after relationship_?' Julian blinked as realisation dawned in his mind. Was this what Garak WAS after? He found himself hoping that it was.

Slowly, and feeling more like a man of three times his actual age, Julian rose, crossed the room and reached out, still slightly shakily, to the comms screen.

****

In his shop, Garak was putting the finishing touches to a formal jacket which Morn had brought in for repair after a slightly inebriated brawl on board one of the Lurian freighters had left it in three distinctly separate pieces. Garak had tried to suggest that a new garment would be a better option as there was only _so_ much that could be done with the remnants, and the repair was sure to leave a traumatic scar in the fabric, but Morn had been insistent, saying (with a slight tremble in his voice) that the jacket had sentimental value as it had been a gift from his late mother on the occasion of his acceptance into the Lurian Guild of Business & Trade, so Garak hadn't had the heart to press him further on the matter.

It had been an exceptionally quiet day so far. The flurry of distracting messages from dear Julian had ceased, which had allowed him to become absorbed in his work and he hadn't given it a second thought until the comms system chirped an "incoming" alert which was followed by Julian's voice.

" _Garak?_

"Yes?" Garak frowned.

" _Are you busy?_ "

"Well, I'm just completing one task, but once that is…"

" _When you finish that,_ " interrupted Julian, " _could… could you possibly come over? I… I'm in my quarters._ "

"Of course." 

" _Thanks_ " The comms link terminated.

The words had been innocuous enough, but there was something in the tone… Tension. Garak immediately felt that something was wrong. He put the nearly-finished garment to one side, locked his shop and headed quickly towards the doctor's quarters.

****

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: Julian is still shaken by his friend's attitude and has yet to break the news of his impending absence to a concerned Garak. 
> 
> Will their new relationship survive the turmoil?
> 
> As always, massive gratitude to Syaunei and Pixiesnix for being wonderful friends and giving great advice and encouragement…


	15. Aftermath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Julian is still reeling from his words with Miles… and Garak is worried about peer pressure.
> 
> An unexpected visitor interrupts activities and tries to smooth things over.
> 
> And then, there is still that conference coming up… and he has to tell Garak that he is going away…

Garak reached the quarters of Julian Bashir and hesitated for barely a fraction of a second before deciding against using the door chimes and keying in an access emergency over-ride code. This action would usually result in a mild to moderate scolding by the good doctor, but time was of the essence and he figured that he'd take the chastisement as and when it came. The priority was to find out what had happened to upset Bashir so much that it was obvious from just his voice. Besides, it was hardly his fault if Starfleet security was so easy to work round.

He was two steps into the room when he saw Bashir sitting on the couch head resting on his hands, elbows on his knees, staring at the floor. 

"Am'Ar…" He began, then swallowed the words hastily… "Julian? What…?"

"Garak… Sorry… I've just had a minor altercation with Chief O'Brien." Julian's voice sounded flat, the voice of a man who had just witnessed something awful and whose brain was still trying to come to terms with it. 

Garak frowned, puzzled. "Over what, might one ask?"

"Us…" Julian flashed a look up at Garak which the Cardassian found difficult to interpret. 

"Sorry?" 

"I sent you some messages…" The doctor fidgeted slightly, running long fingers through his hair, awkwardly angular.

Garak raised his brow ridges in question and reached for his phone, only to find empty space where the phone should have been. Oh… Where…?

He looked up to find Julian holding the phone out in front of him, eyebrows quirked slightly.

"Apparently you mislaid it… and Miles found it and… well, he saw the messages…"

Garak took the phone and read the last message…

"I fail to see why this should cause Chief O'Brien to have any sort of issue. A mere offer of lunch… " He chose not to mention the 'extras' which had been suggested.

"It was the one before that…"

Garak scrolled back and opened the image. There was a silence so profound that even a pin hitting the floor would have been embarrassed to have made so much noise.

"Oh…" Garak stared at the image thoughtfully before quickly sending it to the 'archive' folder. "It doesn't really leave any doubts, does it…"

Bashir huffed and shrugged. 

"I'm sorry. It's my fault. I didn't even realise that the phone was missing…" Garak muttered, his voice low and pained. If only he had realised… He'd wondered why there hadn't been the usual plethora of messages from the young Human, but had made the assumption that, for once, Julian had taken note of his remark about having to work and had decided to let him continue uninterrupted. He could have kicked himself. One of the Order's main training mantras had been that 'one who assumes is dead'… Oh how quickly all that training and those rigid principles had been cast aside once that slim, gold-skinned body was lying beside him… 

Or over him… 

Or under him… 

"These things happen, and it certainly isn't your fault if Miles O'Brien has a petty, narrow-minded viewpoint regarding relationships," Bashir muttered with a shrug.

Garak sat carefully beside the doctor, the tension in the air almost palpable.

"I take it that he was not enamoured of the fact that we … share a bed?"

"Actually, 'not enamoured' would be somewhat of an understatement. I think 'disgusted' would probably be a more accurate appraisal of his opinion, to be honest."

"Because I'm a male? Or is it because I'm a ' _Cardi_ '? Oh, don't look so surprised my dear, I am well aware of the terminology used by Chief O'Brien to describe my people. I have heard worse in my time, believe me." 

"I think both. Honestly, Garak, I thought Miles was a friend. He's always saying that I should _'find someone'_ so I thought he'd be pleased for me - instead, he just said some really unpleasant things about us and… Well, it just was not nice… " 

"What did he say, exactly.?" Garak queried, uncertain of whether he really wanted to know what vitriol had been spewed out by the irate Chief of Engineering.

"Oh the usual thinly veiled insults about my sexuality which doesn't worry me unduly - I had enough of those from various people when I was in my teens - but then he started implying that I was gullible, that you were using me to get information… and that you would cut and run as soon as you had what you needed… And THAT hurt me…"

Garak extended an arm with a certain degree of trepidation, unsure how the move might be perceived, and drew the slender figure closer to him, wrapping an arm around the Human and gently rubbing circles on his back in an attempt to soothe him.

"And…" Garak's voice came out hesitant and tight with concern. "… did you believe him?" Garak felt a cold hand wrap around his heart. He knew that Humans set great store by what opinions their peers had of them… Was Miles O'Brien's opinion so important to Julian that it would force him to re-evaluate their relationship? Julian pulled back sharply.

"Garak! Credit me with a little sense, please. I like to think that I'm not so gullible that I am incapable of assessing someone's character."

Garak raised both hands in acknowledgement and looked down to his knees, a Cardassian gesture of non-confrontational acceptance. Now was not the time for any form of disagreement, warranted or otherwise and, although still concerned, he remained silent. He felt a pleasant tingle as Bashir's fingers reached to run softly down his jaw ridges and the voice, soft and slightly apologetic washed over him.

"I'm sorry, Elim, I didn't mean to snap at you, it's been a bad day… "

Those fingers slid round to the back of Garak's neck, pulling him close once again. And Garak let soft, perfect lips meet his own, pushing worries and concerns into the background as the kiss deepened and balance was restored in his mind. The moment wasn't overtly sexual, but more an act of confirmation, as though Bashir had been aware of the Cardassian's worries and was seeking to allay his fears by actions rather than words… Words, Garak knew only too well, were easily manipulated to delude… Actions, emotions, were less easy to use in this way… Perhaps Bashir _did_ understand how his mind worked... 

Bashir's hands began to roam eagerly… 

Perhaps he understood how his body worked as well… 

He had no intention of complaining as he felt warm fingers interlace with his own and a thumb brushing across scaled grey knuckles with a gentle pressure. His mind was already putting thoughts of completing that commission for Morn to one side and turning to thoughts of a somewhat more intense and physical nature when the door chimes sounded. Bashir pulled away with a terse growl.

"Damn. What now? That had better not be him!"

Garak frowned, drawing the conclusion from the doctor's face that he was referring to Miles O'Brien.

"Wait there." Garak disentangled himself from a set of long, angular limbs and stood to go to the door. He steeled himself for antagonism and opened the door.

"Mrs O'Brien?!"

"Is Julian here?" Keiko O'Brien was standing at the door looking horrified. Garak remained silent, blocking her path.

"Keiko? You'd better come in," came Julian's voice from inside the room. Garak stepped back and allowed Keiko to walk in, acknowledging her with a small bow as she passed him and stood nervously in front of Julian.

"Miles just told me what happened… Julian, I am **so** sorry!" She looked mortified. 

"So am I, Keiko… So am I." Julian looked up at her, his expression pained. Garak moved instinctively closer and laid a hand on his shoulder, causing the hazel eyes to flicker briefly to look at him, a watery smile of gratitude accompanying the look. "Sit down, Keiko, please. Would you care for some tea while you're here? Shincha, or Hojicha?" It was an attempt to put her more at ease, after all, there was no reason for her to feel awkward because of her husband's behaviour.

"Thank you. Shincha would be lovely." Keiko sat down, fingers nervously twisting together, her eyes following Garak as he headed to the replicator to get their drinks. Tarkalean tea, extra sweet, for Julian and red leaf tea for himself. He would dearly have loved to have a steaming mug of rokassa juice to sooth his jangling nerves, but Julian always pulled the most unpleasant of faces whenever he drank it in his presence, so red leaf tea it was…

"I don't know exactly what he said to you, but I can imagine… and I wanted you to know that I don't share his views." Keiko was saying when he returned. 

"Sadly, a lot do," Julian muttered as he took his tea from Garak's fingers. "I don't care, to be honest, but to hear that sort of thing from someone who you thought was a friend… Well, it wasn't good."

Keiko looked embarrassed as she accepted the cup of tea with a shaky smile up at the Cardassian. Yet again, Garak found himself wondering how such a caring, open-minded woman could have ended up married to such a narrow-minded, bigoted individual.

"Not that it is any comfort, I know, but I do think he regrets what he said," Keiko said. "He does value your friendship, you know that."

"Then it is a shame he didn't think about that before opening his mouth. Still, in a way I would rather know what he really thinks of me as opposed to continuing a feigned friendship… "

"I'm sure he will come round to the idea eventually. You know what Miles is like, Julian… He blusters then regrets it afterwards." She went to extend a hand out to touch Julian on the arm, but withdrew it hastily when a less than subtle hiss of warning emanated from the Cardassian who was glowering possessively from his position at Julian's elbow.

"Well, perhaps Miles needs to learn to consider his words _before_ he speaks, rather than afterwards, Keiko. One day he'll say the wrong thing to the wrong person and… well, you know where that can lead…" They both tried, and failed, to ignore the subtle shift in Garak's stance which suggested that he was already envisaging what he would like to do to the Chief of Engineering should 'words' be spoken between them.

Keiko took a sip of her tea and sat, staring awkwardly down at her hands. Julian frowned. He felt genuinely sorry for the woman and suspected that this wasn't the first time she had needed to pacify wounded parties after her husband had given vent to his opinions. He doubted that it would be the last either.

"Look, Keiko, it's not …" Julian's words were interrupted by a ping from his comms badge. "Bashir here," he responded.

" _Doctor Bashir_ ," Nurse Jabara's slightly anxious voice rang out in the room, " _Medical alert in isolation area 4. You are needed there immediately_."

"I'll be right there," Bashir responded. He turned to Keiko again with a slightly sad smile. "Keiko, I appreciate you coming to speak to us. Thank you. I'm sorry I am going to have to dash though." He ushered Keiko and Garak out of the room in front of him, pausing to snatch up the medical emergency pack which always loitered by his door for just such an emergency. "Garak, I'll see you later ok? Dinner here? I'll let you know a time…"

Garak nodded, and was pleasantly surprised when the Human suddenly leant in and gave him a swift kiss before striding away towards the turbolift, casting a slightly shy smile back over his shoulder as he went. Garak turned to see Keiko grinning at him.

"You know, you really do make a very good couple," she said, her dark eyes twinkling slightly as she spoke.

Garak tilted his head in acknowledgement and found himself smiling, despite everything. It was impossible to remain angry in her presence. She was just so… genuine, not a shred of duplicity… It was refreshing. He bowed slightly.

"Will you allow me to escort you to the Promenade?" he said, offering an arm in the way that he had seen in countless Terran films.

"I would be delighted, Mr Garak," answered Keiko with a slight nod of her head and a smile as she accepted his arm and they set off along the corridor. The gesture was not lost on Garak and he felt a strange squirming tendril of warmth pass through him as he realised that this was another person who actually accepted him, looked beyond the grey skin and scales and saw the person beneath them.

****

Garak was putting the finishing touches to Morn's jacket when his phone warbled happily against his hip.

" _I'll be finished around 19.00. Dinner at 20.00 be okay? Traumatic day - need to unwind!_ " Garak scowled at himself when he realised that, although they were only words on the screen, he had immediately thought that the doctor 'sounded' tired. Foolish thought!

"20.00 is acceptable. I shall see you at that time," Garak replied. 

He frowned slightly. Obviously the contretemps with O'Brien had been a contributory factor to this 'traumatic day', but then his mind dragged up a recollection of the messages which had been sent to him by Bashir and which he had not received. ' _Fancy lunch (and maybe more) with me in my quarters? Having a bit of a grim morning and need something to take my mind off it… and you are remarkably skilled at doing that…_ ' The argument with O'Brien had happened around lunchtime, so this message implied that the day had been taking a downward turn before that had even happened. Garak began to feel decidedly uneasy. He finished the jacket and checked the time. Well, the two hours leading up to meeting Julian was going to seem like an eternity… With a sigh, he folded and packaged the jacket ready for collection and sent the notification of completion through to Morn before heading to the storeroom to start organising fabrics required for the following day's work. He had planned to go back to his quarters after finishing Morn's jacket, but decided to occupy his mind with work instead. He knew himself well enough to realise that sitting on his own in his quarters was a sure fire way to raise his anxiety levels from the default setting of moderate, to severe.

****

At 20.00 precisely, Garak hit the door chime button to Julian's quarters and as the door hissed open, he paused and raised his brow ridges in surprise. The first thing he noticed was the aroma of food cooking, which rolled out of the rooms and made a bee-line straight for his olfactory centre, reminding him that he hadn't quite managed to get round to eating anything that day, being somewhat preoccupied with the problems of Julian's issues. It smelled… interesting - one of the good doctor's family recipes based upon the cuisine of his ancestors, if his sense of smell was correct. Spicy and aromatic… His stomach growled in anticipation. He'd sampled the delights of Julian Bashir's cooking before and, he had to admit, the doctor was a perfectly adequate creator of tasty meals. 

The lights were dimmed to Cardassian comfort levels… Julian Bashir emerged from the kitchen area and grinned. 

"Take a seat, Garak. I just need to turn this down a bit then I'll be with you."

Garak parked himself carefully on the couch, picking up a padd which Bashir had obviously been referring to earlier and studying the screen. He had partially hoped to find that it was a downloaded version of one of the Cardassian classic epics, but sadly it turned out to be a programme for an upcoming conference. He was staring at it when Julian appeared, rolling his sleeves down.

"The Xeno-Directed Pathogen Advisory Committee? Planning a spot of targeted genocide, are we Doctor?" Garak muttered with a grin.

"Garak!"

"I'm just joking. Oh don't worry, I'm not about to try and extract information from you about Starfleet bio-weapons, despite what Chief O'Brien might think."

Bashir 'tsk'ed melodramatically and rolled his eyes. He had a sneaking suspicion that Garak was already well aware of many, if not all, of Starfleet's weapons capabilities and could probably tell _him_ more about the available bio-weapons than he already knew. Garak, he had long since learnt, was akin to a sort of information sponge, and had the amazing capability to soak up snippets of information from the most unlikely of sources and stockpile them in that compartmentalised reptilian brain of his until a use was found for them. He sat down beside the Cardassian with a weary sigh, slumping back against the cushions as though someone had just replaced his backbone with a stick of jelly.

"You had a bad day, I gather," Garak prompted. "A shame… and it started off with such promise too!" 

"A bad day?" Julian groaned. "That doesn't even begin to come close to describing it. You know, on Earth they say that things happen in threes, and.."

"Things happen in threes?" interrupted Garak, adopting the raised brows and rigid-backed look which usually heralded an impending set of questions guaranteed to try the patience of the Prophets. "Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why threes? Why not twos… or fours… or even sevens? Why is three so special?"

"It… er… I…" Julian gaped at the Cardassian as his mind frantically tried to find a rational explanation. "It's just a saying… "

"Ah. So if it is not a significant number then why do Terrans set store by it? Why not choose two… or four? The idea seems so arbitrary that the notion of bad things occurring in batches of three does seem a little foolish, if you ask me…" 

"I didn't," muttered Bashir at a level that he knew Garak wouldn't be able to hear. "I expect it comes from the fact that in Terran history, the number three was considered mystical. It crops up in a lot of folktales from various regions and…"

Garak made a face… Bashir's sentence stumbled to a halt and he glared at the man before realising what Garak was doing. This was not a genuinely flirtatious duel designed to escalate into passion. This was something different. He'd learnt to spot the signs now, the tightness of his expression, the way those usually intense blue eyes seemed to become almost glassy, as though Garak was capable of switching off some inner light to prevent anyone being able to read his expression and gauge his feelings. 

Garak was worried. The feigned contrariness was a ruse to deflect… A way of postponing, delaying… Obfuscating reality.

"As I was saying, these things allegedly run in threes and I have already had 5 things go wrong… I'm obviously in for a double dose." How to broach the subject…

"Five things? A veritable disaster of a day, my dear Doctor."

Another sign of tension. He was back to being "Doctor"… 

"What else happened to create this 'disaster'?" Garak frowned. 

"Well, firstly you had to rush off to work," Bashir began, counting off the points on his fingers. "Then my shower failed leaving me covered in soap… I had an unscheduled and to be honest, an unwanted meeting with Commander Sisko… You lost your phone… The argument with Miles…"

"Quite a sequence of unpleasantness, my dear..." Garak murmured, distractedly. He hadn't gone through the Obsidian Order's famed Verbal Encryption Awareness Program (Part Two. Verbal Clues for Successful Interrogation) for nothing… and he could feel the tension in Bashir's voice which indicated that he was still hiding something. It made his insides knot in a most unfamiliar way.

There was a moment of quite uncomfortable silence before Garak sniffed pointedly and Bashir leapt to his feet with a curse, racing into the kitchen to try to save the burning dinner. He was only partially successful and Garak sauntered into the kitchen to find him trying to pick little chunks of meat out of a charcoal amalgam at the bottom of a pan. 

"Well," ventured the Cardassian, airily, "perhaps this counts as disaster number 6… "

Bashir glared at him and continued to pile the meat onto a plate, his expression so filled with angst that Garak immediately regretted his remark.

"Not funny, Garak!" Bashir frowned and pushed past the Cardassian carrying the plate of burnt offerings to the table, putting the plate down with slightly more force than was strictly necessary before stopping and looking at the slightly bewildered Cardassian , a tired expression on his face and a pained look in his eyes.

"Right… well, I might as well tell you now," Bashir muttered, giving a loud sigh and swallowing hard.

Garak felt his whole body go cold… He'd _known_ that something else was being left unsaid…

"My meeting with Sisko this morning. Garak… I … I have to go away."

Garak stood and stared at him. ' _Go away_ ' was hardly a precise turn of phrase… It had no time scale… It could… Garak damped down a feeling of worry and looked at Bashir with intense blue eyes.

"Oh…" he said.

****

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: Julian leaves DS9 for the conference.
> 
> Will Garak miss him? Will those commissions get finished, or will he be sidetracked?
> 
> As always, massive thanks to Syaunei and Pixiesnix for giving great advice and encouragement and listening to me wiffling on about things…


	16. Such Sweet Sorrow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Julian has told Garak about the impending conference and mixes work with pleasure.
> 
> The Pesky Trill strikes again.

Garak felt a shiver go through him which numbed through to the bone. 

In a matter of a few seconds, his mind had not only invented an entire conversation in which Julian announced that he had been reassigned to a Starfleet star ship and was being transferred with immediate effect… but had also supplied Julian finishing that conversation with the words " _Well, it probably wouldn't have worked out anyway, you and me… I mean… it was fun, but let's be realistic…_ "

There were several things he could have said, ranging from a sarcastically provocative remark along the lines of "Bored with my company already, Doctor?" to an overly dramatic and extremely un-Cardassian wail of despair. He settled for a simple, albeit shaky "Away?" in response to Bashir's revelation.

Bashir looked pained. "I only found out this morning… It's the reason that Sisko wanted to speak to me. It's a conference, the one that was on the padd you read earlier… the Xeno-Directed Pathogen Advisory Committee. It's only a three day affair but with travelling it means I'll be away for a week…"

A tsunami of relief swept through Garak's body. He twitched his brows and jutted his chin for a moment as he absorbed the information and his mind processed it. Under normal circumstances, a week was no time at all, but now, this early in their relationship, it sounded like an eternity. Bashir had reached out and stroked a finger across the back of his hand… He hadn't realised that he had been plucking absently at the sleeve of his tunic since the doctor had mentioned his impending absence. 

"It sounds a fascinating subject, my dear…" he muttered, vaguely.

"Yes… It… It should be an interesting meeting… It…It's a pretty hot topic at the moment, what with the recent developments on Gadaebrin 5. It's actually an honour to be asked to attend in place of Dr Y'Lan. She's one of the leading authorities on _xeno-targeting_." Bashir's words did not quite match the tone of his voice, which was flat, monotone.

Garak gave a small huff of agreement and forked a piece of slightly charred meat onto a plate in a display of nonchalance as Bashir continued.

"I don't really want to go… But Sisko as good as ordered me to and…" His voice tailed off again as his whole body seemed to twist awkwardly. "I... I did ask if I could take a guest… but he said no… "

Garak prodded the piece of meat and pushed it around the plate in a dejected manner before looking up at the Human and giving a smile which, even _he_ had to admit, lacked a certain amount of genuine honesty. 

"Well… I shall be able to take advantage of the time to catch up with some of those commissioned works which I seem to have been putting off for a few days…" he said, aiming for casually unperturbed and just about managing it. 

Bashir effected a small pout. "Oh… you won't miss me then?" 

Garak knew from his tone of voice that he was seeking some sort of reassurance. He was longing to say "Yes… Desperately… " and his mind was chasing the worrying thought that a week away might give the good doctor ample opportunity to cool off and decide that the relationship wasn't what he wanted after all. He found his mouth opening and the words that finally emerged were, 

"My dear Julian, I shall be far too busy to miss anything… " 

Garak promptly gave himself a quick mental kicking and admonished himself for being his own worst enemy at times. He cursed the fact that he was the product of his complex and at times psychologically oppressive upbringing and Obsidian Order training, where feelings were quashed and hidden. He looked into a pair of soulful hazel eyes and a disappointed face and felt wretched… as though he had kicked a baby regnar… 

"Well, maybe a little…" he capitulated and was relieved to see that the Human had relaxed a little and that the _wounded baby regnar_ expression had been replaced by a slightly sad smile.

"Shall we eat? I'm sorry about the crispy black bits," said Bashir, gloomily, reaching for a bowl of replicated salad leaves and forking a helping onto his plate before passing the bowl to Garak and then flicking a few less crispy pieces of meat onto the plate. He poured some of the freshly created lemon and mint sauce over the meat and watched the Cardassian push his meal disconsolately around his plate, eyes studiously avoiding meeting his. 

"So… when do you leave?" Garak muttered with feigned disinterest, apparently engrossed in pursuing a small green pod of some unnamed vegetable around the plate. 

"The day after tomorrow. Look, I'm sorry it's short notice… It… I… I'm sorry…"

He looked so dejected that Garak gave a small huff of an apology, finally spearing the errant vegetation and popping it fastidiously into his mouth, then chewing slowly. It was an effort to swallow.

"It is hardly your fault my dear… No need to apologise. And it's only a week…" A week where any of a list of things could happen… Again Garak's mind began listing the possible issues that could arise during the doctor's absence. He fought the thoughts back, selected a piece of something red and crunchy from his plate… chewed it pensively and swallowed the mouthful. It tasted like dried conduit insulation strips. At least, as he imagined dried conduit insulation strips would taste, had he ever been bored, or indeed drunk, enough to try one. 

Which he hadn't… 

He made a supreme effort to eat at least some of the parts of the meal which had been prepared by Bashir himself, feeling that it would be insulting not to try to do so but, he had to admit, his heart wasn't really in it. Judging by the unusually slow rate of food intake and lack of sparkling conversation, the good doctor was feeling similarly afflicted.

Garak sighed and carefully placed his fork on the plate, pushing it away from him with an apologetic glance across at Bashir. 

"So… Are you presenting a paper at the conference?" he began, trying to fill the void of silence which had settled over the table like the proverbial spectre at the feast. 

"Hmmm?" The words seemed to drag Bashir back from his thoughts with a crash. "No… No I'm just chairing a couple of the sessions and overseeing two of the question and answer meetings in the evenings. It just means that before I go I need to sit down and read through the papers being presented and find out a little more about the researchers who are presenting… Just to familiarise myself with their work a little more…"

Garak frowned, wondering if that had been a subtle hint.

"Then perhaps I should help you clear these things away and leave you to do your research in peace," he stated, rising to his feet and gathering used plates and dishes which he transferred to the replicator for disposal. He returned to the table where Bashir was still sitting, staring at his plate, and reached out to pick the plate up. His actions were interrupted by a long fingered hand falling onto his forearm and gripping lightly.

"If… If you don't mind… I mean… if you don't mind me reading for a while, I'd rather you stayed…" the face turned towards the Cardassian wore a hopeful smile, which became a broader grin when the answer was given.

"Of course I don't mind. Perhaps I could entertain myself reading another of your predictably trite spy novels while you work… But not that Bond fellow… He stretches the imagination beyond the realms of plausibility!" 

"Garak! The author of the books featuring 'that Bond fellow' as you call him was actually _in_ the intelligence service!"

Garak's brow ridges elevated slowly as the words sank in. "Really? One can only assume that he used an awfully large amount of dramatic licence when he wrote the books then."

"Oh?"

"My dear, it stands to reason. If he, as an operative, had acted in the way that this… _Bond_ person seems to do, then he would never have survived long enough to even write the first novel, let alone a whole series of them." 

Bashir sighed and shook his head. He felt stressed and tired, and was not up to trying to contradict the Garak-Logic that was being aimed at him by an obviously tetchy Cardassian. He pointedly reached for the padd which had the conference details stored on it, and was relieved to see the Cardassian cross the room to the shelves and select a padd, smiling as he noticed that, despite his grumbling, Garak had chosen a Fleming novel.

Garak sat, gracefully as always, at one end of the couch and gave an exasperated sigh as the Human threw himself down beside him, swivelling round so that he ended up on his back, long legs draped artistically over the arm of the couch and his head resting in Garak's lap.

"Oh, I'm sorry, Garak… do you mind me lying like this… I find it more comfortable for reading…" Bashir flashed an appealing look up into slightly astonished blue eyes. Garak stared almost balefully down at him, a withering reply on his lips, but then he shrugged.

"By all means… It has always been my ambition in life to rise to the exalted status of being someone's pillow…" he drawled, rolling his eyes as the Human settled down against him and wriggled to get more comfortable… "Are you _quite_ settled, my dear?" he muttered, a fondly caustic tinge to his voice.

"Hmmm? Oh yes… very comfortable… thank you," replied Bashir, beginning to read. 

Garak gave a short huff and activated the padd… He had to admit, when it came to an evening relaxing with a book, the feeling of proximity to the Human did enhance things considerably. He wasn't sure at which point he had started carding his fingers through dark, wavy hair, or when he had stopped reading in favour of simply staring at the golden-skinned face… but at some point it had happened. Eventually, fingers stilled… eyes drifted closed… and the Cardassian slipped into a gentle sleep.

He was woken, he wasn't sure how much later, by a hand shaking his shoulder and a voice which became clearer as consciousness returned. 

"Garak? Elim? Elim! Wake up… Elim!!"

Really, he thought, he was getting into astonishingly bad habits. Time was when he would have been awake and ready to react immediately, not have to drag his mind through a fog with a consistency resembling bad quality kanar before he could make sense of his surroundings. In fact, time was when he would never have fallen asleep in anyone's company at all… He had seen far too many other operatives' careers ended abruptly by just such an error… But there was something about being in the company of someone you could trust not to stab you in the back, or indeed in any other part of the anatomy, which was conducive to falling into a relaxed state… 

"Hmmm?"

"It's late. Time for bed… You will stay… won't you?"

Garak nodded and allowed Bashir to lead him through to the sleeping area, pulling him into a soft embrace and walking him slowly backwards towards the bed, fingers tugging at tunic fastenings en route, golden hands seeking and finding cool scales, tracing across them with casual slowness. 

"I'm sorry this evening went slightly awry… and that the dinner was ruined… and that I ended up having to work…" Bashir muttered between delivering nips to Garak's exposed neck and shoulder ridges in a way that suggested that he intended to make it up to him in a mutually enjoyable manner.

Garak most certainly was not going to argue…

****

The next day passed in a hazy blur of tangled limbs and urgency. For some reason, Garak's Clothiers remained closed all day and, had anyone noticed and asked him why, his response would undoubtedly have been along the lines of that he had, out of the goodness of his heart, offered to help dear Dr Bashir with his choice of clothing for the conference and its subsequent packing. This was not totally removed from the truth. There had been one moment when Julian had held up a shirt with eyebrow quirked in question as to whether it was suitable for _casual wear_ whilst travelling or for social interactions. Garak's response had been a look of utter pain and revulsion and the shirt had been returned to the wardrobe along with several other items all deemed thoroughly unsuitable for wearing on _any_ occasion.

****

Garak woke on the morning of Bashir's scheduled departure and lay propped up on one elbow, letting his eyes drift across the Human's sleeping form, drinking in the vision, committing every line, every shadow, every detail of his lover to that eidetic Cardassian memory. He had woken in the night with an irrational fear rattling his scales…

What if…

No, he was being foolish and melodramatic… Of course Julian would come back safely… He'd seen countless away missions leave and return, saw numerous shuttle flights dock with the station on a daily basis. They had all been safe, each operation smooth and trouble-free. Why should this one be any different to all the others...? Just because he had a vested interest in one of the shuttle occupants wasn't automatically going to mean a disaster with injuries… or worse. But Garak had grown to expect the worst. There had been very little in his life which could have been described as pleasant and anything which had fallen into that category had always been ripped from him by some means or another… Why should this be any different…? 

He had fallen back to sleep with arms wrapped securely around a slender golden body, his nose tucked firmly into the crook of the Human's neck, breathing the scent of him… memorising it… And all too soon, he was woken by the _ting_ of the alarm, succumbing eagerly to Bashir's suggestion of a 'quick cuddle' before they had to get up so that he could get the shuttle for the conference.

It felt strange… a sort of anticipatory numbness, knowing that something unpleasant was about to happen that could not be changed. Watching that moment coming closer and closer and being powerless to stop it. Bashir gathered his things together and walked to the door. 

"You don't have to come and see me off if you'd rather not… I mean… if you have work… or something…"

Garak made a dismissive gesture with one hand and smiled indulgently. "I had better come and see that you catch the correct shuttle, my dear… It would be most unfortunate if you ended up on one heading for another Quadrant by mistake."

Bashir took a deep breath, about to fire an indignant comment back at the Cardassian, but realising that this was Garak's way of saying that he wanted to be there with him… 

Smudging the truth… as always… 

They walked in silence, arms casually brushing and casting occasional glances at each other, an unspoken conversation just held within their eyes… 

"Garak… I…" began Julian, hesitantly…

"JULIAN!!!!" came a familiar voice, making heads turn to see what the fuss was about.

"Ah… Jadzia… I'm sorry, I'm in a bit of a hurry…" Bashir threw an anxious glance towards Garak, whose lips had compressed into a thin grey line and whose eyes were flashing dangerously.

"No worries - I can walk with you. Oh, hello, Garak…" Her eyes sparked with mischief as she carefully insinuated herself between the two of them and kept pace, chatting about inconsequential things in a one-sided conversation and studiously ignoring the exasperated frown on the CMO's face.

"Now… Julian, when you're at the meeting could you hand this iso-linear rod to Deptak Iloria for me? It's something that Curzon promised to let him have a long time ago and never got around to sending… And if you see Dr Letitia Morgan could you say 'hi' from me and ask her to get in touch… And…" Dax's voice trailed off with dramatic hesitation as Julian gave her a look which could only be described as ' _frosty_. She turned and gave Garak a sickeningly innocent smirk before turning her gaze back to the doctor.

"What's wrong Julian? Anyone would think you don't want to talk to me…" The Trill's eyes were too wide to successfully feign innocence. 

Julian almost growled in annoyance. As always, Jadzia Dax had managed to push the bounds of acceptable teasing just a little too far. 

"Now, as I was saying," she continued… Julian winced.

"Look… Jadzia… I have to board in 10 minutes and…" Bashir was almost turning himself inside out, a mass of awkward angles and lines. He had just taken a deep breath and steeled himself to be, if not outright rude, then certainly moderately tetchy, when a slight, dark-haired figure appeared at Garak's elbow, seemingly out of nowhere. 

"Ah, Lieutenant Dax… I wondered if I could see you for a moment, it's about the controlled climate pods we've got set aside for the hydroponics trials… I know we weren't scheduled to meet and discuss them until next week, but I need to sort a few things out before then. Perhaps we could go over a few things… NOW?!"

Julian gave an audible sigh of relief, giving thanks to any passing Deity for the astute creature that was Keiko O'Brien. He and Garak stood watching in silent wonder as Keiko led the protesting Trill away with a firm grip on the elbow, casting a quick look back at them over her shoulder. Julian was certain that he saw her wink.

Garak almost gave an audible squeak as he was suddenly grabbed by the arm and dragged into a small alcove by a suddenly earnest looking Human. He found himself wrapped in long, slender arms and held… then kissed with an intensity which made his scales ache.

" _Will passengers for shuttlecraft Ariadne please begin boarding immediately… That's passengers for shuttlecraft Ariadne - please begin boarding immediately. Thank you._ "

Bashir broke the kiss and stood, pressing his forehead against that of the Cardassian. Time seemed suddenly meaningless.

"I… I have to go… I'll try to get a comms message to you when I can… and I'll be back soon… and… Elim…"

" _This is the final call for all passengers for shuttlecraft Ariadne… That's passengers for shuttlecraft Ariadne - please board immediately. Thank you._ "

"Damn… I…" Bashir gave a lop sided smile… it didn't reach his eyes. "Don't forget me… will you!" he quipped, though his voice sounded strained. Garak opened his mouth to reply, but the words stuck in his throat and he leant in and claimed a last kiss from the doctor before stepping back and gesturing for the Human to go to the boarding area. 

He smiled… 

He was good at wearing the mask which he put on now… The friendly, amiable Cardassian tailor with no cares or worries. The mask had served him well through the years… It remained in place as he watched Julian Bashir filing through the access gate, turning briefly to wave to the Cardassian before he disappeared inside the docking airlock. 

Only then did the mask fall away…

Garak moved to the viewpoint and stood, staring out at the shuttlecraft as the docking tubes withdrew and the take-off light sequence began. The small vessel rose from the shuttle pad slowly, then began to move ponderously away from the main station superstructure, heading out into open space.

"Come back safely, my dear…" he murmured, eyes focusing through his reflection to the shuttle, which was beginning to pick up speed ready to engage warp drive once a sufficient distance from the station.

He watched as the shuttle dwindled and was eventually lost amongst the star-field… remaining staring into the darkness for several minutes before he turned slowly and walked towards his shop, eyes lowered, showing none of his usual energy, not noticing the dark brown eyes which watched him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: With Julian away, Garak can get on with those commissions… but lunchtimes are going to be dull… aren't they?
> 
> As always, massive thanks to Syaunei and Pixiesnix for giving encouragement and ideas, and listening to me wiffling on about things Garashir…


	17. I ain't missin' you...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Julian has departed for the conference leaving Garak on DS9. 
> 
> Garak finds that Terran literature consists of more than Bond and Shakespeare… 
> 
> And Kukalaka gets a new suit…

It wasn't too bad, mused Garak, wielding his laser-cutter in an attempt to get to grips with one of the commissioned works which he had been putting off for a few days in favour of… well… " _enjoyable company_ " with the delectable Julian Bashir. Granted, lunchtime that day had seemed a little boring and had been spent sipping gelat and nibbling on an ikri bun in the back room of his shop rather than going to the Replimat, which had, for some reason, lost its attraction that day. However, he had lots of work to be getting on with and he was determined that he was NOT going to be missing his dear doctor, especially so soon after his departure. After all, he'd only been gone for 2 hours.

Really… It was fine…

He was fine…

He'd been alone before, so he could cope with a few days alone again… 

Easy…

He gathered the cut pieces and began to sort them, pinning them together and draping them over the mannequin, making the odd adjustment here and there and standing back to stare critically at the result. 

And so the afternoon continued… and the evening… Garak worked on in his shop well beyond the time when he would normally have closed up and headed home or, more recently, to Julian's quarters. It was quite late when the door to his shop hissed open and he found himself looking up to see the Chief of Security standing in the doorway, wearing an expression which looked as though it had started off trying to be a frown but had changed its mind halfway there and settled for 'somewhat suspicious' instead.

"Still working, Garak?" muttered Odo, stepping into the shop and glancing around. 

Garak returned the frown and refrained from making a sarcastic remark pointing out that being found in his shop, a needle-pad on his wrist, a beading-needle and thread in his fingers and a large quantity of cut cloth _would_ tend to suggest that to be the case. 

"Indeed I am, Constable…"

Odo threw a trademark 'harrumph' into the conversation, suggesting that he found the whole idea to be hard to believe. His eyes travelled round the room as though he was expecting a group of Obsidian Order operatives to emerge from the fitting rooms and melt into the shadows. 

"You should be commended for showing such dedication to your craft, Garak," the Changeling growled with a hint of sarcasm seeping into his voice as he edged towards the cutting table nonchalantly and cast a glance over the fabrics and patterns. "I don't recall seeing you work this late into the evening for a long time."

"Constable Odo," Garak gave a weary sigh, "I am busy working on commissions which need to be completed this week. I decided to work late in order to get a head start on one of the more intricate pieces… I assume that that isn't a crime in your book…" Garak allowed a mask of amiable politeness to fall across his face.

Odo made a short huffing noise and continued to prowl around the shop, arms folded.

"Well… as you are so _busy_ I'll leave you to continue with your work," muttered Odo strolling to the door and giving a final look back at the Cardassian as he left.

Garak swore vehemently as he jabbed a pin into his finger, unsettled and slightly irritated.

He WAS busy…

He DID have commissions to do…

But really, he began to admit to himself in the silence of the shop, the actual reason for working late was that he was not looking forward to going back to an empty apartment… and more especially, an empty bed. 

Eventually, after jabbing his fingers several more times and discovering that he had managed to stitch one of the elaborate cuffs to his own tunic, he had to give in and accept that he did need to get some sleep. He was also finding it slightly unnerving to keep catching glimpses of Odo skulking in the vicinity, clearly convinced that he was up to no good. 

He headed for the habitat ring and his own quarters where he paced around for a while, picking up and putting down various objects and moving a few smaller items around the room. He paused at the replicator, knowing that he should replicate a meal… but he wasn't really hungry, so settled for a another replicated mug of gelat and an ikri bun, just to keep body and soul together, and sat down with a padd containing a few of the less well known Cardassian short stories, hoping that they might just soothe his fraught nerves a little.

They didn't.

He managed a few paragraphs of the first tale - an unusual story by Cardassian standards - before the subject matter began to feel too raw and far to close to the truth… It was called, simply, "Lost" and started somewhat worryingly with one of the characters going off on a mission and his shuttlecraft being hijacked by enemies of the State… "Oh perfect", he muttered to himself with no small amount of sarcasm, skimming through to the next story - a depressing tale of self denial and sacrifice for the State… 

Perhaps not, he decided gloomily, reflecting that until recently he would have been quite content to sit and plough through these short stories. Now, however, they had lost their appeal somewhat.

Maybe one of the Terran novels… Or one of those films that Julian had insisted on stockpiling around at his quarters... Mostly they seemed to be about that Bond creature so these were automatically rejected. There was one about some law enforcement officer whose methods would have made Odo wince, wielding an oversized hand gun and chasing a psychopathic serial killer around some Terran city… Garak frowned and replaced the iso-linear rod back in its holder… He could remember watching part of the film with Julian… They had never got to the end owing to a massive argument erupting when Garak had said that he felt a degree of sympathy towards the killer for some unfathomable reason… 

Julian had quite taken him to task over it. Loudly and at some length… 

It had been a shame, pondered Garak, that this particularly spectacular disagreement had taken place before their relationship had become more physically orientated… It had been really very heated and had ended up with them inches apart glaring at each other… Yes… his self-control had been severely tested on that occasion..

Memories like this were not conducive to a restful evening, he mused. His mind simply could not focus on anything and his stomach was twisting itself into uncomfortable knots.

Perhaps he should have eaten a proper meal instead of that ikri bun…

Perhaps he should try to sleep… He found his mind drifting to another of those quotes that Julian Bashir was so fond of throwing into their conversations…

“ _Sleep that knits up the raveled sleave of care,  
The death of each day's life, sore labor's bath,  
Balm of hurt minds, great nature's second course,  
Chief nourisher in life's feast._”

How typical… The wretched 'bard' again… Garak gave a short huff of resignation and headed for his bed.

An hour passed…

He was cold… and had been staring unseeingly at the same square metre of ceiling since he had lain down. He shivered and tried not to think about how much more comfortable it was when there was a warm, gold-skinned Human body pressed closely against his own grey scales. He was ridiculous… 

Foolish… 

Sentimental…

Lonely…

The ceiling received a further 30 minutes of his undivided attention before Garak, with a miserable whining growl, threw back his bed covers and rolled out of bed, dragging on his clothes and sighing as he stumbled wearily to the door of his quarters. A short walk… just to relax… just once round the habitat ring… Then surely he would be able to sleep.

He wasn't sure how it happened. It most certainly hadn't been a conscious decision that had led him to the door of Julian Bashir's quarters, but there he was, reaching out and keying in his access code, casting a nervous glance around him as the door slid open and he stepped inside. The lighting was dim, set to the night time levels which equated to 'dark' by Human standards but causing no problems for Garak's Cardassian eyesight. He drifted into the bedroom and stopped. The room still held a strong scent of Bashir. It was strangely soothing… He walked over to the bed and sat down on the edge, picking up the small stuffed bear which was sitting on the pillow and fixing it with an intense stare.

"I guess you miss him too…" he found himself muttering, before kicking himself mentally and hearing the voice of Enabran Tain sneering at him in his mind. He was too tired to care. 

He folded over, pulling the covers over himself with a sigh… And, clutching a small stuffed bear to his chest, Elim Garak finally fell into a deep, untroubled sleep.

****

Garak awoke early the next morning with a feeling of total disorientation and in some sort of cocoon arrangement of sheets, quilt, stuffed toy bear and, bizarrely, one of Julian's old t-shirts which had obviously been lurking somewhere in the bed and had chosen that moment to make its presence known. His first instinct had been to reach out for the smooth, warm, scaleless body and the feeling of disappointment when his fingers found nothing but a pillow and empty space was acute. He pulled his arm back into the secure warmth of the covers and frowned at the idea of getting up and returning to his own quarters. The idea it itself was far from appealing, but if he remained there in Julian's absence then he knew it would cause Odo to become even more suspicious than usual and the last thing he wanted was to have the Constable following him around the station, or lurking in his shop disguised as a piece of fabric or, worse still, to be detained in the brig pending investigation into his activities. The brig was far too cold for his liking, and he was not keen to have to explain to Julian how he had ended up there, innocent though the explanation might have been. He smiled to himself as he imagined the doctor rolling his eyes with an exasperated sigh and saying "I can't leave you alone for a few hours without you getting yourself in trouble, can I?!"

"I'm sorry, my dear…" he found himself saying to an empty room… And bit his lip, feeling foolish. 

It was tempting to bundle up the bedding and take it back to his own rooms, but in the end, Garak left Julian's quarters with one toy bear (he didn't like to think of it pining for its master in his absence) and Julian's t-shirt (it needed a small tear mending… and a wash, coming to think of it…), ignoring the slightly inquisitive glances from passers by, including two elderly Bajoran ladies whose capacity for gossip exceeded even that of Morn. They eyed him with ill-concealed curiosity and bustled away, leaning into each other to mutter as they glanced back to check his whereabouts and move on, still muttering.

Once back in his quarters, Garak placed Kukalaka carefully on the pillow in the bedroom, looking briefly for the stuffed toy regnar to join him, but failing to find it, even after a systematic search under the bed and down the back of the mattress. He gave up, stripped, showered and changed into clean clothes then set off for his shop with a slight spring in his step and a plethora of good intentions regarding his commissions for the day.

He hadn't been there for 5 minutes when the door hissed open to admit one Constable Odo who was, as always, looking smug.

Now what?

"Good morning, Constable Odo, what a pleasant surprise. And how may I be of assistance to you this morning? A new suit for off duty relaxation? Or a vibrant sash to accessorise your, forgive my saying, somewhat _drab_ work uniforms? I believe that fuchsia pink is the current tr…"

"That's quite enough, Garak!" interrupted Odo, managing to sound ridiculously huffy for a creature which, as far as Garak was aware, did not breathe. Garak adopted an expression of wide-eyed innocence and clamped his lips firmly shut on any further remarks. Odo paced back and forth a few times before leaning back against Garak's cutting table and folding his arms.

"It has been brought to my attention…" Odo started, his voice almost a purr of satisfaction. Garak flinched. Sentences starting like that and coming from anyone in authority were inevitably indicative of bad news and, usually, false accusations. He raised his brow ridges in polite enquiry as Odo continued, "…that you were seen acting suspiciously in an area of the habitat ring some distance from your quarters a relatively short time ago…"

Garak silently cursed all elderly Bajoran busybodies. "Really Constable… is it a crime to take a walk before work now? I was merely…"

Odo interrupted with a loud harrumph which Garak found annoying on several levels.

"SO, I thought I'd just run through the security records for that section, and for your own quarters… You left your quarters, empty handed, at 01.45… You didn't return until 07.55. That was quite a long walk, Garak."

Garak shrugged noncommittally.

"What is more," the Constable continued, sensing that, for once, he had the upper hand in this matter, "when you finally _did_ return to your quarters, you were carrying two items. So, I did a little more investigating…"

"How very diligent of you, Constable," Garak muttered, sarcastically.

"…and found that the majority of the approximately six hours during which you _claim_ to have been taking a walk, were actually spent in Dr Bashir's quarters. And don't try saying that it was a social call, Garak… I am aware of the fact that Dr Bashir is currently off station and your entry to his quarters was, therefore, illegally obtained. So… Perhaps you could explain…?"

"There is nothing to explain, Constable. I offered to clean and repair an article of apparel for the good Doctor which he forgot to drop off at my shop before his departure, so I simply dropped by to pick said item up from his quarters."

Odo threw Garak a look of disbelief. "For six hours?"

"It was… difficult to locate…" Garak replied, with perhaps too much haste. "Please feel free to drop by my quarters later, Constable and allow me to show you the article, as you quite clearly don't believe me. Or you can contact Ju… Dr Bashir yourself and ask him… I'm sure he will confirm the facts." He switched to his customer service smile and stared back.

Odo's look of astonished disbelief changed to one more reminiscent of a foiled hunter as he stared at Garak shrewdly. Garak held his gaze and eventually Odo gave a disgruntled harrumph and strode to the door where he turned and glowered at the Cardassian.

"I'm watching you, Garak." Somehow, Odo always managed to make Garak's name sound like an insult when he spoke it.

Garak's smile never wavered as he gave a slight bow of the head and turned to begin his work.

"I'm sure that you are, Constable," he muttered…

****

The morning proved to be quite productive. He managed to finish one outstanding commission work and to start two others, one of which involved some very intricate stitching necessitating a good deal of close up work using his eyepiece and a very fine needle. He was quite glad when he got to a suitable stopping place and could straighten up and blink at the normal rate. He was just in the middle of a rather expansive stretch to relieve the kinks in his neck ridges and shoulders when the shop door hissed open and a person walked in.

Garak sighed wearily, expecting to look round to see Odo's looming presence once again. It came as a very pleasant surprise therefore, to find himself looking into the dark eyes and gentle smile of Keiko O'Brien.

"Mrs O'Brien," he scrambled to his feet with an apologetic bow towards her. "I do apologise… How may I be of assistance?"

"I'm sorry to bother you, Mr Garak, but I was just wondering if you would be able to do anything with this dress of Molly's. It's one of her favourites so I don't want to recycle it, but she's shot up in height and it needs to be lengthened by a few inches and maybe sort of 'freshened up' a little." 

Garak took the garment and studied it.

"Hmmm… I think that I may have something that will suit… Just one moment, please Mrs. O'Brien," he muttered, thoughtful, and headed to his storeroom. He emerged carrying an armful of fabric remnants which he placed down on the table beside the dress, picking each piece up and holding it against the original fabric and either nodding, or sighing and shaking his head. "I think one of these two… Now, which do you think that the young lady would prefer?"

Keiko frowned and compared the two alternatives, her face a work of indecision. Garak smiled and passed her the two lengths of cloth.

"Why not take them both to show her and see which she prefers?" he suggested. 

Keiko looked relieved and smiled back at him. "Would that be okay?"

"Of course. Just let me know at some point this week and I'll be able to get the alterations done for you. Now, is there anything else?"

Keiko shook her head, obviously running something through her mind. She looked slightly awkward as she looked up at him…

"I was wondering…" she began, slightly hesitantly. Garak raised an enquiring brow ridge. Keiko continued, eyes slightly downcast in polite deference. "… I was about to go and get a quick lunch at the Replimat. Would you care to join me?"

Garak took a deep breath… His mind frantically scrabbling to find an excuse.

"Well... I…"

"Oh… It is just me on my own," Keiko said rapidly. "Miles won't be there! I'd love some company…" 

Garak nodded slowly… It would at least be a healthier option than hiding himself away in the back room with his thoughts and a stale ikri bun… He suspected that Keiko O'Brien thought this as well.

He followed Keiko out of the shop and they strolled to the Replimat, where Garak found himself instinctively sitting at the table which he and Julian usually shared. It felt strange to be looking across the table at a different face, disturbing almost. Obviously it showed, because Keiko smiled and sat down placing her bowl of food in front of her and the folded fabric beside her.

"It will soon pass…" she said, lifting her bowl and capturing a snow pea and some noodles with expertly wielded chopsticks. Miles wasn't keen on her own people's cuisine, so indulging in a dish, even a replicated one, was a rare treat. Garak watched, fascinated. He'd watched Julian trying to use these bizarre implements once before… It had not gone well and Garak had estimated that Julian had managed to get a mere 3 mouthfuls of food. The rest had ended up on the table, down his shirt and congealed at the bottom of the bowl. 

"Sorry? What will soon pass?" 

Keiko placed the bowl down and placed the chopsticks carefully on their stand. "The next few days. He'll be back soon." She smiled sympathetically. 

Garak shrugged and waved a hand, signalling his dismissal of the idea. "Oh, I'm far too busy to worry ab…" he started, but then saw her expression and the words died on his lips. He swallowed and concentrated on chasing a piece of Tisarian tagine around his plate. He wasn't particularly keen on the dish himself, but it was one of Julian's favourites and he had found himself ordering it without even realising what he was doing.

Keiko gathered her bowl up and took a few more mouthfuls of her meal before placing the bowl down once more. 

"I understand that you are fond of Earth literature, Mr Garak," she said.

"Well… _some_ Terran literature, though Julian's recommended reading list seems to consist mainly of predictable espionage thrillers and plays by Shakespeare… He refers to them as 'tragedies' and I'm afraid that I am in total agreement with him on that point."

"I wondered if you might be interested in reading an epic that I have? I think you would find it quite different to Julian's spy novels and Shakespearean works."

Garak raised an enquiring brow ridge. He tilted his head in polite acknowledgement at her offer.

"That would be most interesting, Mrs O'Brien."

"It is of some historical interest as well as being a fascinating tale. It is thought to be the first Terran novel ever written, and…" she paused for dramatic effect and leaned in, almost conspiratorially, "… it was written by a woman!"

Garak frowned, puzzled by the remark. He dabbed his lips carefully and placed the serviette carefully beside his plate.

"Is that unusual in Terran culture?" he queried. Keiko gave a small sniff of amusement.

"Terran society has never been particularly advanced when it comes to gender equality," she said, a slightly rueful smile playing across her face. Even these days, despite all the legislation laid down by the Magellan Treaty of 2198, there were still issues which needed to be addressed.

Garak raised a brow and nodded, suspecting that he should steer well clear of that particular subject.

Keiko continued. "It's called ' _The Tale of Genji_ ' and is basically about the life of a son of an emperor of Japan. I think you might find it interesting. Perhaps I could drop the iso-linear rod off with the fabrics tomorrow? Here, at lunch time?" 

Garak gave a polite tilt of the head in acceptance. "Thank you," he said.

Keiko picked up her bowl and finished off the last remnants of her meal. The conversation continued through the lunch break, passing briefly through literature, moving on to fashion trends on the station and ending on horticulture and Keiko's plans to try growing a few new food species under hydroponic conditions . Garak was surprised to find the time passing quite quickly and that the conversation had been enjoyable even though it had underlined to Garak just how much he valued those times with Bashir… and how much he was missing his company. 

He headed back to his shop and passed a relatively uneventful afternoon sketching a design, then cutting and stitching small pieces of cloth into something which eventually resembled a very small Cardassian over-tunic, the material a rich Celestial Blue shot through with silver thread. He held the completed item up and nodded his satisfaction. He folded it carefully, wrapped it and closed the shop, heading for his quarters with the package held almost reverently.

That night, Garak fell asleep with no more than a short spell of fretful anxiety… His final thought as sleep took him being that former Obsidian Order operatives lost a certain degree of credibility when they could only sleep clutching an old t-shirt and a small stuffed bear. Even if said bear was now smartly dressed in a Celestial Blue tunic…

Kukalaka's thoughts on the matter went unrecorded.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: Life goes on... alone.
> 
> A comms call... or two.
> 
> As always, thanks to my dearest friends for advice and encouragement.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading. Truly hoping that you are all safe and well out there during these strange and unusual times.


End file.
